


A Truth So Loud You Can't Ignore

by isitandwonder



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Armie is a mess, Dark, Dubious Consent, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Multi, Rough Sex, Threesome - F/M/M, Tim struggles, all sorts of kinky shit, not ssc, some really sick shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2019-10-28 11:01:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 20
Words: 45,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17786141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isitandwonder/pseuds/isitandwonder
Summary: It’s a fine line between love and dependence. That’s what Tim learns when he tells Armie about his first time, disclosing a well-kept secret, without any idea what sick and twisted developments he’s setting in motion.“How can I be substantial if I do not cast a shadow? I must have a dark side also if I am to be whole.”– C.G. Jung





	1. A Rainy Day In New York

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stmonkeys](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stmonkeys/gifts).



> I'm aware that this won't be everyone's jam
> 
> Last November, this blind appeared:  
>  _This A- list mostly movie actor is definitely headed to an Oscar nomination this year and at this point is likely looking at a win. A few years back, our actor was making a movie. It was one of his bigger first breaks. Even though the movie didn't do great and no one liked it, the actor says it will always be memorable for him. Why? Apparently he had sex with his first man and his first woman and it happened at the same time. The man was this A- list mostly movie actor from an acting family and the woman was this A- list mostly movie actress. For weeks, the pair had been teasing and seducing the young actor and it finally came to ahead one night when they gave him a couple of pills and some booze and told him to relax. The actor was legal at the time and said it was surreal. He also said that as much as he might have enjoyed that first night, that he probably would not have done what he had done if not for the pills and booze. When the actress and actor came back for seconds to speak a couple of nights later, he told them no. They didn't talk to him the rest of the shoot._
> 
> https://www.crazydaysandnights.net/2018/11/todays-blind-items-first-time.html
> 
> Most guesses as to who that young actor might be were for Timothée Chalamet, filming 'The Adderall Diaries'…
> 
> What if this was true? And what if, one drunken night during filming CMBYN, Tim told his co-star Armie about it? And what if that gave Armie ideas?
> 
> Chalamazed, who did the gorgeous cover for this story as well, prompted me with that idea in January. First, I declined. But the set-up haunted me. It was the perfect opportunity to explore a darker version of Armie’s and Timmy’s relationship.
> 
> That being said, please take the warnings seriously. There will be dub-con, bordering on non-con. Everyone is really fucked in this story – and not in a good way. It’s dark, sick and twisted.
> 
> And it’s obviously all made up.
> 
> I stole the title from a Troye Sivan song.
> 
> The chapters will be shorter than usual but I'll try to update more than once a week.

„So, I see you got yourself a little girlfriend now, Timmy. You really think that'll help?” Tim can almost see Armie leering, even over the phone from 3000 miles away. Judging by the high-pitched shrieks and water splashing in the background Armie’s sitting outside while his kids play in the pool.

Tim remembers that pool area quite well...

He blinks, shifts his weight from one foot to the other, pinches his thigh so hard it will surely bruise.

“Fuck you, Hammer.” He hisses.

“Ah, but that's not gonna happen, no matter how often you beg for it.”

Tim stares out the window into the gray New York sky, tries to think of nothing, for his mind to go blank. Don't give him the satisfaction and react. Don't take the bait!

“What do you want?” He has trouble to keep his voice even.

“Do I need a reason to call my beloved co-star?” Tim is grateful that Armie doesn't try a pun involving their movie title. “Remember, I fell in love with you in Italy... Maybe I just wanted to hear your voice.” His sweet tone sickens Tim.

“You didn't call me for nearly six months. So, yeah, I wonder-”

“Wasn't aware you missed me so much you counted the days.” Armie sounds triumphant. Shit! Tim fell for his trap again. Now the mocking will continue mercilessly.

“Only in the sense that I cherished every moment I did not have to spend with you. You know, shooting fight scenes trapped in an iron armor while the sun burns down at over 100 degrees at the literal butt of the world was actually much preferable to your company.”

“Oh, Timmy.” Armie doesn't sound the least bit put off. “You know, you really have a lot of work to do on your come backs.”

Tim squeezes his eyes shut. His face feels hot, flushed. He's happy he's alone right now and no-one can see him like this, getting all flustered because of a simple phone call.

Yet somehow, his silence seems to do what his words didn't. Armie sounds suddenly serious, his voice hard and cold. Tim hates this voice.

“Listen. Tongues have started wagging as awards season starts. Apparently, there's a blind on Enty. It's about your almost mother-in-law and that asshole F. – and all the fun the three of you had a few years back.”

“What?” Tim nearly drops his phone. He has to sit down, just sinking to the floor. He feels bile rise in his throat. “That's not... that can't be... no one knows... Shit!... I just told you, no one else. And you only told-”

“Get a grip!” Armie barks and Tim falls silent. “Its all anonymous, of course, but people are sure it's F. and Erin, and your name came up as well already. Better check it out. I don't care how it came about but I think you should do something about it. Do all of us a favor and call Brian.”

Tim tries to keep his breathing under control. His head is spinning. This can't be happening! And why the fuck does Armie even care?

He seems to have said at least the last part out loud because Armie answers: “Because if it gets known that you are quite... versatile... and enjoy it literally both ways, then people will add two and two together – so to speak – and come up with their own conclusions. Liz, me and you. And we don't want this to happen, Timmy, do we?” The threat is audible in Armie's voice.

“No, of course not, Armie.” Timmy mouths, hating himself for how submissive he sounds.

“Good. Then take measures that it _won't_ happen. I'm building something over here, Timmy, and _I_ won't have my family and life destroyed by a little tart like you who can't keep it in his pants-”

“It wasn't like that.” Tim whispers as his eyes start to sting. Don't give him the satisfaction to start crying!

“It was exactly like I say it was! Everyone will believe me. I'm a husband and a father. It was all your fault-” Suddenly, Armie's voice sounds muffled. Tim thinks he's talking to his kids, apologizing for getting loud and shouting down the phone. 'Daddy loves you...'

God, Tim wants to vomit.

“Anyway.” Armie's back with him now, maybe has been for a moment or two already. Tim had zoned out. “Sort it. See to it that you don't get associated with this shit. Maybe your little girlfriend might really help. Go out with her, be seen, make out... whatever. Distract those vultures or they'll eat you alive.”

“Yeah, okay, whatever...” Tim just wants this call to be over. He's sick of it.

“And don't call me.”

“Why would I call you, Armie, of all people?” Tim's face is wet by now. Fuck.

“Maybe because I know you? Because I had my cock up your ass while your tongue was inside my wife's-”

Tim presses disconnect and sprints over into the bathroom, just glad not to miss the toilet as he throws up his breakfast.

\---

Over in sunny LA Armie sits in a deck chair by his pool, staring down at his silent phone. Timmy's avatar is still on the display, a picture Armie took over two years ago in Italy. A close-up, Timmy smiling brightly, his face as tanned as it would get, with freckles scattered all over the ridge of his nose.

Armie's sure that Timmy had been crying in New York.

If he was still able to feel sympathy, or anything at all really, he might actually have cared. He might even have tried to comfort him a little.

But it's better this way. It's better that Timmy hates him.

The alternative would be unbearable.

To numb himself further, Armie cracks open another beer. Should work nicely with the Xanax he's been taking lately.

To not think.

To sleep.

To function at least as a bad copy of a human being.

His life has never been the same since Crema, but not in the way almost everyone seems to think.

He'd told only Liz. And his wife is the clever one in their relationship. Armie is a pervert but Liz is a clever pervert. That's why they fit so well. What happened had been her idea – mostly.

At least that's what Armie tells himself.

Why couldn't he keep his mouth shut? Why did he have to tell Liz what Timmy had confessed to him late one night, drunk and high, when they'd almost, almost gone too far and crossed a line?

He wishes he knew.

But then it's a proven fact that Armie Hammer is a certified first class idiot.

So he set an avalanche in motion that's now threatening to plunge them all into ruin.

He knows the blind will make it even harder to get through the day. Yet he can't allow himself to dwell on it. He needs to forget it. He did what he could, inform Timmy.

Liz would get furious if she knew he'd talked to him. But he had to. Tim's so naive and chatty, he might even give someone an honest answer if they asked about it. So he had to be warned.

And they should really get rid of that tape.

But that would mean talking to Liz about it again.

And Armie isn't sure he's up to it.

It's so much easier to have another beer and pop another pill and wait for this to be over.

Though, as these things tend to go, Armie should have know that it wouldn't be so easy.


	2. This Is Not A Love Song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim remembers his first time... it's not pleasant.
> 
> Warning: drug induced dub-con coming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, let me thank everyone who read the first chapter! I never thought that it would get nearly 500 hits, being a locked fic and depicting something different from the usual A&T stuff.
> 
> Again, remember, this is all fiction...
> 
> Title is a song by Public Image Ltd.

Tim still lies on the cold tiles in his bathroom fifteen minutes after first hanging and then throwing up, staring at the meandering cracks in the high white ceiling. There's dust in the corners and a spiderweb, dead insects entangled in its frail yet deadly silk.

Tim feels them. It's a perfect allegory for his life those past two years.

How did he get to this point, he sometimes wonders, when his defenses are down? Like now...

He'd always been small, thin, even as a baby he'd been tiny. When all his peers started to broaden and grow hair in places Tim didn’t dare to look, he stayed fey and smooth, getting teased for looking like a child.

It didn't help that he took ballet classes because he loved to dance and everyone did ballet in his family...

Middle-school was merciless, the bullying so cruel that he locked himself in his room with his music turned up to deafening volume for hours, shutting the hostile world out.

His parents were too busy to notice that something was wrong and he hadn’t wanted to bother them.

Instead, he cried himself to sleep almost every night, fearing the next morning when the teasing would continue.

When he couldn't take it any longer, he started to get into fights. In which he lost but at least he defended himself. Physical pain was so much easier to bear than the scars the insults and name-calling left.

Yet when his mother started to notice the bruises he was forced to switch tactics and skipped classes. Sometimes whole days.

It led to a very unpleasant talk with the head mistress.

All he wanted was to be normal, accepted.

So he kissed Alexa in that bloody elevator because kissing girls with long dark hair wearing crop tops and too much strawberry lipstick apparently was what normal thirteen year old boys did.

He didn’t much like it but it hadn't been too bad either. He thought it would get better when he got the hang of it.

Thank god he got accepted to LaGuardia, despite his lousy reports and low grades. Where he happened to accidentally date the most popular girl of the whole school because she thought he was nice and funny. Suddenly, Lil Timmy Tim had been someone.

Luckily, Lola wasn’t allowed to be alone with him – she was always accompanied by a bodyguard when they went out, and it was taboo for Tim to visit her at home. So nothing really happened between them. Not that Tim did think he missed out. Lola was goofy, they just talked, she told him about her crazy life and the famous people she met while they shared a coke and some fries at a burger bar with a grim looking mount of muscle on the next table, staring at his phone.

It was a little bizarre, but in a quirky New York way.

It ended amicably when Tim started to work more and more as an actor. He just didn't have the time for a girlfriend.

He traveled a lot, learned a lot, made music, and when his mum or friends or even fellow actors asked about his love life he shrugged and said that he simply had no idea how to cram a girlfriend into his busy schedule.

The first boy he made out with he met on a film he shot when he was seventeen. They just fooled around, which led to some groping and rutting until Tim came in his pants embarrassingly quick. They never talked about it afterwards and still managed to stay friends.

It neither disturbed nor enthralled him. He couldn't even say it had been better than his limited experiences with girls. Okay, he'd orgasmed, but it wasn't that he never masturbated. This time, another person had been present. Which happened to be a boy. No big deal.

Tim began to suspect that maybe he just had a very low libido and simply wasn't as much into sex as most other people.

Which was fine by him.

He was still a virgin when he turned eighteen. He knew it was a silly concept but yeah – he'd never fucked nor been fucked. He was slender, almost hairless and looked like a fourteen year old girl.

He was aware that his looks attracted certain men – and sometimes women. It creeped him out a little but there was nothing he could do about it so he decided to ignore it.

Until he couldn't any longer.

Four years ago he got cast in a movie. The story sounded promising, he would work with actors and actresses he admired. It would even film in New York. Perfect.

Tim had graduated the year before after working on some big projects and had assumed that things would progress steadily.

They hadn't.

Instead, he struggled to get cast in anything. For some roles he looked simply too young, for others too old. He was boldly told that he was no leading man material; that he looked weird. His cheekbones were too high, his hair too curly, there was not enough muscle, his nose was too big…

He felt ugly. Detested. Worthless.

He started to question his decision to become an actor. Shouldn't it be about talent and not about looks? But maybe he didn't have either...

Out of work for almost six months, getting rejected again and again at auditions, had him on the verge of a literal existential crisis. He couldn’t pay his rent any longer and was virtually homeless, crashing on friend’s sofas. By that time he'd simply done anything for a role.

His desperation didn't go unnoticed, apparently. He was so glad and grateful to get cast in yet again another role as an addicted teenager that he put up with some weird shit from the start of the project.

Like one of the main actors – lets call him John F. - and his then girlfriend Erin (not her real name, but it was a color as well) coming over into his changing room or caravan when he was dressing. Them offering him a joint or a pill on more then one occasion. Inviting him over to their hotel suite in the evenings to prepare and rehearse as they called it.

Tim might have been young but he was from an acting family and had grown up in Hell's Kitchen. He knew what was going on. When he's honest with himself now, lying on his bathroom floor, a vile taste in his mouth, his stomach hurting and cramping – he has to admit that he'd felt flattered. He was quite aware that as an actor you were nothing without connections. These two famous A-listers offered to take him under their wings. They were big shots, their stars shining bright. Tim hoped they'd help him get a foot in the door.

He was prepared to play their game in return.

He'd thought of himself as a hardened show biz veteran – but he was just so fucking naive. An easy lay.

It only needed a few invitations to dinner in members only restaurants, to go out for drinks to some posh bars where he'd been previously declined entry, a pair of designer sneakers bought for him because they 'looked cute on him' to make him shed his inhibitions.

Then, one evening, after dinner and cocktails, they ended up at the hotel suite again. Tim had filmed his last scene that day and they wanted to celebrate.

He was offered a small flask with a colorless liquid. Tim thought it was a shot.

“Down with it.” John said.

So Tim chucked it. It tasted salty, soapy, and he shuddered.

After about five minuets it became clear that it had definitely not been a shot. He felt relaxed, euphoric; the feeling was so fucking good that he didn’t mind Erin climbing all over him to kiss him.

Her mouth was soft and wet and warm. When she put his hands on her boobs and told him to squeeze he did.

Slowly, she slid down to the floor until she knelt between his spread legs, opening his fly and taking him into her mouth. Tim just stared at her, unable to comprehend what was done to him. It was like watching someone else getting blown. 

Then another tongue licked into his mouth, bristly stubble scratching his chin, his cheeks, while a strong hand slid down his throat, his chest, unbuttoning his shirt to play with his nipples.

‘That’s weird’, he thought. But whatever he had taken earlier made him pliant, dozy. He simply was too drowsy to tell them to stop.

Only when he was pulled forward, his face pressed against a crotch, someone rutting against him, he started to feel a little uneasy. Yet as Erin kept sucking his cock he somehow understood that the same was expected of him when a wet cockhead pushed against his lips, demanding entry. He tried to turn away but a strong hand tightened in his hair.

“Come on, baby, don’t be like this. Here.” Fingers forced his mouth open, slipping something on his tongue. “Swallow. That’s it.”

He fell back against the cushions, his yaw still hanging open while white light washed through his body and his discomfort seeped away until everything seemed to be wrapped in cotton, numbed, sounds coming from far away. Every move felt like pushing through molasses.

Things got blurred from that point onward. He still thinks he remembers soft skin, long hair, deep moans. Fingers on his lips. His mouth between someone's legs – but he’s not sure if they were attached to John or Erin.

What he distinctly remembers is choking, spluttering and someone laughing.

He also remembers the moist smell of sex, the sweet tang of a woman mixed with something sharper, darker, more musky.

Those memories aren't pleasant – but it's even worse that what he can recall gets increasingly patchy.

Until the pain cut through the hazy fog enfolding him - bright and clear like lightning. God, it had hurt. He'll never forget it.

It must have been Erin who held him down while John entered him. He'd still bled the next day when he was sitting on the toilet, shitting for what had felt like hours, his guts playing up while his head pounded, nearly exploding. There'd been red stains on the toilet paper as well as in his pants.

The agony must have sobered him up a bit, somehow. That's why he can recall what makes him more ashamed than getting fucked by John– fucking Erin.

After John was finished with him all he wanted to do was shower, then crawl into a bed and sleep for days. But he wasn't yet allowed to leave. They told him he could only go when he'd returned the favor. Back then, in pain and drugged, that somehow made sense to him.

Erin first blew him again, then stroked him to make him hard. But it wouldn't work. He was sick by then; maybe he even cried, begged them to stop. He felt so dirty and sore. And cold. His whole body shook and trembled. He thinks John slapped him and told him to get a grip. 

Tim was on the verge of a panic attack.

“Be a good boy, darling.” Erin whispered, pressing her breasts against him.

Somehow, Tim willed his cock back to life, his body still reacting to stimuli because his spaced-out brain couldn't handle the mixed signals of pain and pleasure it received.

He was just eighteen, for fuck's sake. Of course he got hard with a fist around his cock!

Yet he hated his body for it. Still does.

They also put an elastic cockring on him to make him last.

And so he fucked Erin for what felt like hours – while John alternated between kissing and fondling him and her, touching himself, spreading Erin open with his fingers, even pushing some of them inside her next to Tim's cock, making him lick them clean, her sweet-sour taste filling his mouth.

Tim sees it still, like etchings burned into his retina, lewd Polaroids of indecent deeds: her wet, hairless, swollen cunt; John's hairy chest; deft fingers on Erin's breasts playing with her light-brown nipples; Erin's eyes rolling back while she bit her glistening lips; John slapping his ass, spurring him on, calling him their fuckboy. Sweat dripped down his face, making his skin itch while he panted and grunted, thrusting into tight slick heat, feeling nothing but disgust and embarrassment until he felt nothing at all and just kept going.

And then it was over. Erin arched, bucked and came – and so did John, all over her tits and face. Tim was allowed to stop, his thighs burning, his cock feeling like a piece of raw meat.

They both kissed him good-bye and said they should repeat this soon. By that time Tim would have agreed with almost anything to leave. Limping down the corridor towards the lifts was his personal walk of shame.

He switched his phone off when he arrived at his friend's apartment where he was currently staying and curled up on the couch, pulling a blanket over himself without even bothering to undress. He was too tired to shower, which meant he woke up some time later still smelling of them. Nausea washed over him and he outright ripped off his clothes, stuffing them in a bin liner, not caring that he used to love this shirt.

To get some privacy he locked himself for hours in the toilet, staring at his pale reflection in the mirror, forcing himself not to burst into tears by digging his nails into his thighs until he drew blood.

“You're a slut.” He said, his voice too loud in the small room, the words leaving a bad taste in his mouth.

By the end of the week he got himself a new mobile and moved back home to his parents.

He smoked so much pot over the following summer that his mum started to look concerned. He didn't work at all for the next couple month, not even going to auditions any longer. He couldn't. 

Instead, he enrolled at university. Learning, reading, writing essays distracted and calmed him.

He didn't want to go to the premiere of their movie but his agent insisted. Both John and Erin stood very close to him, hugged him tight, touched his waist, his shoulders at the photocall, smiling all the while.

“We missed you.” They whispered. “We have a friend you should meet. He's a director. We told him about you. You're just his type.”

During the screening a hand crept up his thigh and settled only inches away from his crotch, massaging his leg.

He fled the after-party without saying good-bye to anyone, spending the night at a friend's place, lying on his couch, watching old episodes of Golden Girls and eating greasy burritos.

That was the sad, pathetic, cringy story how Timothée Chalamet, now the Internet's heartthrob number one, lost his virginity.

As he takes his phone out and googles the gossip site Armie mentioned, he learns that their account of what happened is surprisingly accurate.

Fuck!

He closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose.

It's the story he'd only told once, on a drunken night two years ago in Italy when Armie came to his place and asked him why he'd freaked out that day, filming their first sex scene.

Back then he'd still trusted Armie.

God, did he never learn?


	3. Undone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Timmy meets Armie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _“After all, damn it, what does being in love mean if you can't trust a person.”_ \- Evelyn Waugh

Tim had been afraid to do _'Call Me By Your Name'_ ever since he'd read the book. But then it didn't seem to materialize for years. And when it eventually did he'd thought he'd moved on, changed, became more self-assured.

Face your fears,t hey said.

He'd thought he could forget what happened.

Because he had started working again, shot two indie films in a leading role, did a play on Broadway.

_'Call Me By Your Name'_ meant working with James Ivory and Luca Guadagnino, filming for three months in Italy.

He simply couldn't say no.

Though the subject matter was difficult for him, maybe it could be somehow therapeutic? He didn't think about that fateful night two years ago every day anymore when he signed the contract and boarded his flight to Milan.

It would be alright. It had to be alright.

But it wasn't.

Life and art blurred in a very peculiar and not altogether healthy way.

Because Tim really came to like Armie. Armie, who was married. And yet... who was flirting with him, for all Tim knew. They fell in an easy – if platonic - intimacy that scared Tim a little but which he also immensely enjoyed.

Armie was funny, kind, generous, smart. It didn't hurt that he was good-looking. He taught Tim so much: about food and drink, men things like boxing, and the fame game. Armie had seen it all during his ten years in the business, the highs and the lows.

Tim felt accepted by him unlike ever before by another actor he'd worked with. Armie treated him like an equal, asked him for advice on scenes, listened to his opinions.

It was so easy to like him.

It should have been a warning but Tim felt somewhat starved. He'd built walls around himself over the past two years that Armie simply bulldozed down with his big smile, loud laugh and his huge frame, hands like shovels and legs like columns, looking like he could carry the world's weight on his shoulders.

Without his walls Tim was left defenseless. But then he thought he'd be secure with Armie; he was a husband and a father. So Tim could safely develop a crush on him – because it would never be reciprocated. It would lead nowhere.

He'd even briefly met Armie's wife. Tim didn't take to Liz but Armie beamed at her and his little daughter whenever he set eyes on them. It was pretty obvious that he loved them both.

During the first week Tim was sure he had everything under control. Their icebreaker went well. Armie was a professional. He'd kissed male and female partners on numerous films. He knew how to keep it PG but make it look a lot more lewd. He even showed Tim his first film kiss he'd ever done – in which he'd licked the lips of his movie girlfriend before diving in.

Tim decided to copy that because it looked fucking hot without demanding too much skin contact.

When Liz and Harper left, it seemed only natural that Armie and Tim started to hang out together in the evenings more and more often, going over their scenes, watching movies, talking...

Armie told Tim about the time after his big films had flopped. How Liz had been there for him. Tim told Armie about all his casting failures and how it still wore him down to watch films at the cinema for which he'd been up but didn't make the cut.

Before filming progressed to the more intimate scenes between Elio and Oliver, Armie asked one evening if Tim had a girlfriend.

When Tim laughed and denied he asked about a boyfriend, holding Tim's gaze, totally unfazed.

Tim swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry under Armie's blue stare, and shook his head. Armie frowned.

“How's that?” He asked.

Tim shrugged, feeling himself blushing.

“I have a lot to do. I have to work.”

“Now you're just quoting Elio.”

Tim giggled because it was true. “Where's the rush?” He smiled at Armie to bide his time.

“Where's the rush? You're twenty. Your age I'd shagged a letter box.”

“That's why you got married so young?” Tim teased but somehow that crossed a line for Armie's look darkened and he changed the subject before quickly gathering up his things and leaving a few minutes later.

It was the first time that Tim got subjected to Armie's silent treatment – and he didn’t like it.

Things cooled a bit between them after that. No more casual touches, no more hugs, no arm resting on the back of Tim's chair, no thigh pressing against his when they shared one of Luca's sofas to watch a movie. It was subtle, nothing to put the finger on, but Tim noticed nonetheless.

It threw him off balance more than he'd expected.

Now he sees how Armie did play him. It had been textbook. First the promise of friendship, trust and intimacy, dangling it right before Tim's eyes, only to withdraw it when Tim had gotten used to it to make him desperate and do almost anything to get Armie's affection back.

A little bit like Oliver.

Tim has no idea if Armie had planned it all from the beginning but somehow he thinks he did.

And Tim falling apart after the midnight scene played into his hands.

From the day he'd heard about the casting Tim had wondered why someone like Armie Hammer had signed up for this project, this small gay indie film. Well, he was about to find out soon.

The night they shot Elio's and Oliver's first sex scene made Tim nervous until he was at the verge of panic. He wasn’t used to getting touched like this by a man. By anyone, actually. He’d snogged with Maika a bit last year but that had been… different. Softer.

But Armie’s hands were so big they easily spanned Tim’s waist; cupping his shoulder blades, it felt like being crushed. He was hairy – on his yaw, chest, between his legs – and muscled. Strong, much stronger than Tim. Undeniably male. His smell was musky and he tasted like wine and tobacco as he growled _‘Tim!’_ in his ear while his thumb brushed over Tim's Adam’s apple, applying pressure...

Tim needed a break, walking out onto the balcony, taking deep, steadying breaths. It helped a little.

But then Armie almost ripped his t-shirt off during the next take and Tim fell onto the bed, only to be buried under nearly 200 pounds of heavy, sweaty man.

He froze and stared as Armie pulled his belt from its loops, almost anticipating getting either spanked or tied up with it. Why else would Armie remove it? Somehow, this idea spiraled out of control, taking him back to THAT NIGHT almost to the day two years ago…

When Tim tried to free himself Armie reached for him, pushing him back down.

That was when Tim suddenly started to choke, overwhelmed by flashbacks. He couldn’t breathe as Armie's voice mixed with John's, their faces morphing in the shadows. The smell, the touch, all that hot skin – he drowned in it, going under.

Luca yelled cut. For a long minute, Tim was unable to move, even after Armie rolled off of him. His whole body was shaking as he slowly surfaced, hearing Luca call for another time out in his soft Italian lilt.

During the fifteen minutes Luca gave them afterwards Tim first threw up in the bathroom and then shared a joint with Armie. He needed something to calm down and block out the memories flooding his brain.

“Wanna talk?” Armie asked, perching on the bathtub while Tim squatted next to the toilet.

“Not really.” He managed to say, passing the reefer back to Armie, who slowly nodded.

“Fair enough. It's not that I didn't encounter the odd asshole feeling me up when I set out in this industry. Something like that?”

Tim just shrugged – because yes _and_ no. What he’d done was so much worse. Because he’d agreed to it. He'd gone with them, aware what was about to happen. He hadn’t fought them off. It had been his own fault, really.

“Any triggers I should avoid?” Tim was grateful that Armie dealt with his breakdown in a matter-of-fact way.

“Just don't... touch me too much below the neck, okay. Don't pull my hair or... hold me down.” Tim wasn’t able to look at him, studying the pattern of the tiles instead.

“Noted. Hey, come on, you can do that. Elio kinda hates Oliver the next morning. Seems you have enough personal experience to draw from to pull that off rather convincing.”

And despite everything – this made Tim grin.

In the end, Luca panned over to that tree to spare Tim.

The morning after scene became a truly fine piece of ‘acting’, lauded by critics for its powerful authenticity...


	4. Never Trust A Stranger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim tells Armie his secret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These lyrics are quite fitting:
> 
> I knew there was a danger  
> But couldn't resist  
> The touch of a stranger  
> The thrill of his kiss  
> 'cause this time  
> I thought it was love  
> I thought it was heaven  
> Having the time of my life  
> I know it's not true  
> Oh never trust a stranger with your heart  
> Oh no, never trust a stranger with your heart  
> My world is in pieces  
> You've stolen my pride  
> And I'm left defeated  
> And crushed by your lies
> 
> It's actually Kim Wilde...

As they did film the whole night into the early morning, cast and crew got the next day off. Armie barged in on Tim in the afternoon, literally shaking him out of bed, bringing pizza, coffee – and wine.

A whole bag full of bottles – red, white, rosé.

Apparently, Armie had discovered a small wine store that sold the local vintages.

“I thought you might need that after… you know.”

“Me?” Tim’s voice was still raw from sleep.

“Yes, you. And eat something. I kinda feared squashing you last night.”

Tim had feared the same. And worse.

While he sipped his hot, sweet coffee Armie opened the first bottle.

Two hours later Tim was profusely tipsy. And just so happy that Armie was talking to him again, hanging out with him again, his big left foot nudging Tim’s bare leg as they lounged on his unmade bed.

Armie leaned back against the metal headboard, swirling white wine in his glass after topping Tim’s up again despite his protest. “C’me on. We’ll have to get physical over the next few days again. Luca can’t always film a tree, you know. So you better tell me.”

Tim felt himself blush up to the roots of his disheveled hair.

“Leave it.”

“No chance.”

When Tim still wasn’t forthcoming Armie started guessing.

“You had an unpleasant encounter?”

“Sort of.” He didn’t want to talk about it but on the other hand he feared that Armie might leave again, cold-shouldering him for the rest of the shoot. He was sure he couldn’t work like that. Not again. Not with Armie. He wanted – needed - this film to be good. He needed the connection.

So he started to reluctantly answer Armie.

“With a girl? Or a guy?”

Tim’s ears started to burn. He took another gulp of wine before whispering: “What would you say if I told you… with both?”

He couldn’t look at Armie, stared down his glass instead.

Armie made a strangled sound – something between a laugh and a hiccup.

“At the same time? Seriously? A threesome?”

When Tim eventually looked up Armie was… smirking.

“It’s not… it wasn’t…” Tim couldn’t finish the sentence.

“Hey, calm down. It’s cool.”

“No. It’s not… I didn’t want to… not like that.” He started to realize that Armie somehow found this funny.

“It’s many guys wet dream. No need to be ashamed of it.” Armie angled for the wine bottle, inching a little closer.

Tim shrugged. He wasn’t sure if he should explain to Armie that he wasn’t only ashamed of what had happened because it had been with a man and a woman but because it had been his first time at the age of 18 and he’d felt so dirty and used afterwards. That he could barely remember what exactly had happened; that he’d been so wasted it had been too easy to seduce him; that he didn’t protest at first because he'd somehow expected something to happen. 

Maybe he'd even wanted something to happen.

But it had hurt so much.

How to admit these things out loud when the one listening to you thinks what you’ve done is hot and wild and a little edgy?

Tim offered his glass again to have an excuse to stay silent.

“So, you like it both ways?” Armie asked. They’d never openly discussed their orientations. Why would they? It was pretty clear that Armie was straight, being married to Liz, having a daughter. And as Tim still felt he hadn’t really figured out what he liked he’d seen no need to address the issue and circumvented Armie's questions. Though he could see that it might matter now, as their sex scenes approached, looming large.

It still was safer ground than to talk about that night two years ago. “That’s fine with me, you know.” Armie leaned over now, resting his hand high on Tim’s thigh, just below the hem of his boxer shorts.

His fingers felt warm. They looked as if they could easily span Tim’s whole leg, lean muscle, bone and all.

“Okay.” Tim breathed and didn’t dare to move.

“I mean, it’s good to have a partner who knows what he’s doing. Scene partner. For... gay scenes. Gay sex.” Armie cleared his throat but didn’t remove his hand.

Tim nodded. What else could he do? Set Armie right that his sexual expertise was rather limited to one intoxicated encounter? No fucking way.

He suddenly realized he was probably more drunk than he’d thought as the room started to shift. But when he set his glass down and Armie refilled it without a question he didn’t say no.

“When did this happen?” Armie squeezed Tim’s thigh now, maybe just because he had to balance himself while reaching for the bottle…

“Two years ago.”

“So you were legal?”

“Yep.” Tim popped the 'P' before clinking glasses with Armie.

“Friends of yours?” Armie looked at him but didn't drink.

“Nah… not really. Actually... if you must know... it happened while I was shooting a movie-“

“You mean fellow actors? Do I know them? Oh my god, Lil Timmy Tim – you’re quite the naughty Romeo, seducing two of your colleagues.”

Tim had to take another sip, trying to calm his racing pulse.

“It wasn’t me who-“

“Doesn’t matter. Who were they? You have to tell me.”

“No fucking way, Armie.”

“You know I could just go through your not that comprehensive list of films and make an educated guess, right?”

“Ha, that would serve you right! There’s some real crap there-“

“You tell me!” And with that Armie threw himself on Tim, starting to tickle him, gripping his wrists and holding them above his head. Tim shrieked, tried to kick back, to wiggle away from beneath Armie – but he didn’t stand a chance. His empty glass landed onto the floor, rolling into the far corner of the room.

“Tell me! Or I won’t stop!”

“Please… _please_ …”

“Surrender!”

Tim’s sides started to hurt from the giggling. It became harder and harder to breathe.

“Okay. Okay! Please… I give up.” 

Armie stopped, sat back, but didn’t release Tim’s arms. Instead, he pulled him back up in a sitting position, holding his hands in his lap.

“But you have to swear on your daughter’s life to tell no one. No one!”

“I swear.”

“I mean it, Armie. Like, seriously.”

“I swear on my daughter’s life not to tell anyone with whom you fucked, Tim.”

Armie’s blue eyes were large and looked sincere.

Tim took a deep breath.

“John F. and Erin H.”

“Jesus.” Armie let out a low whistle. “You’re a real honey badger, Chalamet.”

Tim had no idea what to say to that. He wasn't proud of what he'd done but maybe it wasn't so bad after all?

Armie was fishing something out of his pocket, a little brown piece of resin. “Do you have papers?”

As Tim got up to get the papers and the tobacco stashed in his kitchen drawer he had trouble standing without toppling over.

“Geez, maybe I shouldn't...?”

“Ah, come on, we'll smoke something, you'll relax, and then you'll tell me all about it, okay?”

And Tim did.

At first, Armie grinned lewdly but the more Tim disclosed the more serious he looked.

When he ended Armie stared at him, unblinking, the vein on his forehead protruding in an livid frown. “And that was your first time?” He sounded grave.

Tim shrugged, trying to will his unease away. “I was a late bloomer...” He forced his lips into that he hoped resembled a grin.

“No wonder you freaked out last night. That sounds pretty dirty. Did he at least use a condom?” He passed Tim the half-smoked reefer.

Tim really didn't know. He just shrugged before taking another hit.

“I've heard stories about him but I guess I never believed them. Until now.” Armie shook his head, seeming far away in thoughts.

“Well, it's been two years ago, I should be over it.” Tim offered the joint back to Armie.

“You should?” Armie leaned closer, his breath ghosting over Tim's bare arm before taking a drag while Tim was still holding the spliff between his fingers.

“I have to. This can't haunt me for the rest of my life. I'm glad I was so high I can barely remember most of it.” Tim felt Armie's lips pressed against his hand, warm and a little wet.

“Maybe you'd enjoyed it with the right person? Someone you liked...” Armie blew out the smoke and rolled onto his stomach, shifting even closer. His body pressed against Tim's arm, his hip, his leg, making him look tiny and delicate next to this Greek god of a man.

“I don't know...” He stared into Armie's eyes, so friendly and kind, before lowering his own head so their faces were just inches apart. “Maybe I just need something to overwrite the experience? Something good.”

“Maybe you do.”

But neither of them moved, they just held each others gaze – and then the moment was gone. The reefer burned Tim's hand and he shrieked and cursed which made Armie laugh. He deftly took the stub and dropped it into an empty wine bottle before sucking Tim's index and middle finger into his mouth to cool them. 

The joint died inside the green vial with a sharp hiss.

Tim let Armie's tongue caress him until he gently released his fingers. They were glistening with spit.

“Better now?”

Tim smiled and nodded before getting up to retrieve his glass.

They fell asleep in his bed after drinking another bottle of wine, Tim curled up against Armie's furry chest while he told him stories about his youth in the Cayman's. Tim dreamed of a forest of green palm trees leading him onto a beach where a naked Armie with a fish tail tried to lure him into the roaring ocean despite his objection that he couldn't swim... 

When they were woken up by both their mobiles ringing he had a pounding headache and his mouth tasted as if something furry died in there. He just had time to get dressed, discarding his sweaty underwear, not caring that Armie was watching, before they both left in a hurry to be on set in time for another night shoot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For all those who wonder: No, Armie is not a very nice guy here...


	5. Scenes From A Marriage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something happens between Tim and Armie. Tim also gets a glimpse behind the facade of the Hammer's marriage...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was originally longer but I had to cut it to fit the pacing of the story. So the real dark stuff starts in the next chapter...

They filmed Elio's and Oliver's most intimate scenes over the next few days and Tim mostly managed to keep it together. True, he broke down during filming the aftermath of the notorious peach scene, but that was his only slip and apparently Luca liked it.

He recovered much quicker than after the midnight scene, which he attributed to the trust he had developed in the whole team and especially Armie.

They lived in a kind of fog during these days, orbiting around each other, close, closer, but never colliding. 

And then Liz returned.

Armie withdrew after her arrival. She joined their meals, their evenings. As a consequence, their easy intimacy dwindled. When they eventually left Crema for Lake Garda and Bergamo they seemed to grow even further apart.

It became evident during their very last scene. They needed eight takes to get the kiss of a lifetime right.

Liz cornered Tim during the wrap party the next evening, her smile all teeth, her hands like claws, gripping him.

“Timothy, a word.” She didn't ask nor did she say please as she pulled him outside onto the balcony.

He was a little tipsy but quickly sobered up under her glare.

“What is it, Elizabeth?” He made a point of saying her whole name.

“What _it_ is?” She mimicked him. “I'm just telling you this once, Timmyboy. Armie is my wedded husband. No matter what happened here, nothing will change that. You're a sweet little thing so I won't judge him – but you aren't the first and you won't be the last. In the end, he always comes back to me. So, just spare us all the hassle and drama and just move on, okay.”

“What are you even talking about?”

Liz grabbed his chin firmly, her long artificial fingernails digging into his jaw. “Did he fuck you? Did you beg for it like a whore? That's what I'm talking about, princess. You're his type.”

Tim just shook his head, both as denial and in an attempt to free himself.

“Are you drunk?” He gasped.

“Oh, now you're playing innocent. Whatever. Armie belongs to me. We're expecting our second child. Did he tell you that? So don't think I'll just share him.”

With that, she turned and left Tim standing on the balcony, dumbstruck. What did just happen? And what was Liz referring to, telling him he wasn't the first, that he was Armie's type? Was Armie into men?

True, there had been some close encounters during the shoot but that could be attributed to the chemistry and closeness of their characters and the professional trust that had grown between them. But nothing substantial had happened between him and Armie, it had all been Elio and Oliver. So why was Liz lashing out at him?

He couldn't ask neither her nor Armie because they left the party shortly after. Tim ended the night in bed with Esther, just a casual, relaxed shag they laughed about in the morning over their last espresso on the Piazza del Duomo.

And that should have been that.

Yet, after his Italian summer, returning to New York was strange. He tried to jump back into the loop, started auditioning again and even landed a few interesting parts. He met his old friends, went out, kissed girls, kissed boys, even half-heartedly viewed a few apartments - his life could have gotten back on track if Armie hadn't phoned him in October and asked to meet because he would be in town the next day.

So they met, got coffee. Afterwards, Armie accompanied Tim back to the flat he shared with two old mates from school, making fun of his Kid Cudi poster on the wall before offering to buy dinner at an expensive restaurant that gave Tim anxiety because he feared he might use the wrong cutlery. 

“Can I walk you back home?” Armie asked after dessert.

There, in his room, Armie kissed him. 

Not Oliver. 

Armie.

This wasn't a rehearsal and didn't feel like a joke. It profoundly confused Tim.

“What are you doing?”

“Isn't that obvious?”

“Yes, but...” Tim's whole body started trembling.

“You don't like it?”

“Well, yes, I even missed it but... why? Why now?”

“Because I missed you, too. Can I stay the night?”

And Armie had looked so soft in this moment, his fingers brushing Tim's lips so gently that even today, after everything that happened afterwards, he still can't quite believe that it all had been a lie.

Could Armie's body have lied to him like that, his soothing hands all over Tim, his lips in places never kissed before? Hushed whispers, promises even, sounding so sincere that Tim had been on the verge of crying as he let go and fell...

Careful touches, oh so careful, as Armie finally, finally found his way inside his body, filling him, much more tender than Tim remembered from that first time still haunting him but No! – he didn't want to think about that, with ARMIE on top of him, all around him, inside him.

They'd taken their time, enjoyed each other, worshiped each other – and to this day Tim refuses to consider that it had been a ruse.

What he saw that night on Armie's face had been real.

Which made everything that came after so much worse.

Tim flew to LA a few times over the following winter but somehow they never managed to meet, their schedules too chaotic and confused. Then Armie injured himself and had a new baby boy, complicating his life further.

Sundance was hectic but so much fun. For the first time Tim realized where their film could take them. Suddenly, people wanted to talk to him – the press, producers, directors, casting agents – and he felt almost high as things started to happen so fast it was hard to keep track.

He knew they had to be discreet but at times he just didn't care, bubbling over with sheer joy because of all the recognition and accolade - and the possibility to share everything with Armie. There were a few close encounters in broom cupboards and elevators until Armie put a stop to it.

“Timmy, we can't.”

“Why not?”

“Because... we shouldn't. Let's be professional, promote this movie, not endanger its success.”

“Is this about your wife?” Tim felt reckless, maybe because Armie had just come down his throat.

“No, it's not about my wife. It's about the work.” Tim helped Armie button up his fly as his tone dropped dangerously low.

“You could leave her, you know, divorce her. These things happen.” Tim smiled up at him from where he was still kneeling on the floor.

“What are you talking about?” Armie sounded dismissive and a little angry. “Get up, we have a Q&A in ten minutes.”

If Tim hadn't been so gone on Armie and thrived on the whole surreal experience of being praised as THE up and coming talent he might have cut ties back then. He should have.

Pride comes before the fall.

And Tim would fall hard, soon.

But hindsight is easier than foresight.

It felt a little weird when it was Liz of all people who invited him to stay with them while shooting Beautiful Boy in LA. Yet he accepted – because it would mean seeing Armie every day, being close to him and share his daily life. They would be as much a couple as possible. An intoxicating thought.

Only, Tim hadn't taken into account how grumpy Armie would be because of his arm, his pain, his boredom.

Liz was thin, always tired or nursing or both, moving around the house just in jogging pants and lose shirts, her hair unwashed, carrying a screaming, wrinkled baby over her shoulder, dragging a whiny toddler behind. 

Sometimes she didn't get out of bed all day and Armie ranted and yelled, banging the bedroom door shut when Tim passed by. That was the time when he pulled on his head phones and turned the music up real loud. Later, Armie often put Ford into his pram and went for a walk, and Tim took Harper outside to play in the pool or the sandbox, baking sandcake after sandcake. 

On these days they fired the barbecue, sitting in the garden until it got too dark and the kids needed to go to bed. After a week Tim had already memorized _Where The Wild Things Are_ – Harper's favorite book – making her giggle when he did the voices.

Because they were never alone, nothing happened between them. True, there were glances, hands brushing against each other, shared whispers, but the kids where always around and when they'd finally gone to sleep Armie was exhausted from the painkillers and Tim often passed out in the warmth of Harper's bed, child and book resting on his stomach.

Yet despite not having sex it felt like playing house, like they were a real family. Tim loved it so much it started to frighten him.

One evening Harper called him papa.

But their idyll was built on sand. Liz's ghostly presence constantly reminded Tim that this wasn't real.

She wandered the house with dead eyes, like a mothering robot. On good days she managed to smile and showered, played with Hops, took Archie for a walk.

On bad days Tim saw her crying in the kitchen, stuffing cookies, cake and ice cream into her mouth until she choked, her face smeared with tears and whipped cream, crumbs all over her shirt. As he silently went to his room he could hear her start to heave and retch.

Her behavior troubled him – but he couldn't bring himself to feel truly sorry for her.

Armie and his wife fought a lot over these weeks, like Tim had never seen a couple fight before. Armie kicked over furniture, smashed china against the wall. Liz cursed and cried and locked herself in the bathroom for hours, shrieking like a hurt animal. The Mexican nanny, the cook and Mercedes the housekeeper just rolled their eyes and retreated to the kitchen until these scenes blew over.

Tim knew he should probably leave, that his presence maybe triggered at least some of these clashes – but a morbid curiosity made him stay. It felt like watching an avalanche, fully aware that it would destroy everything in its path, but still be drawn in by the sheer, overwhelming force of nature.

Besides, Tim felt increasingly weak and sick. He had to lose a lot of weight in preparation for his film and became more and more lethargic to the point that he just rolled over when he heard the shouting start.

Until things imploded.


	6. Love Hurts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea how to summarize this chapter... Liz shows her hand? Tim finds his way into Armie's bed? Armie shows his true colors?  
> Whatever - things get creepy...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel I should put up a trigger warning for abusive sexual coercion.
> 
> Title is from Love Hurts by Incubus  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J7Qcn8rm65k

Tim had been staying with the Hammers for three weeks, going to rehearsals every day, and had already lost about twelve pounds when things got really weird.

Liz was actually quite good at helping him with his diet because she desperately wanted to slim down after her pregnancy as well. So she introduced him to certain measures like fasting with Glauber's salt or eating cotton balls dipped in orange juice. They compared their calorie intake every day and who came out lowest got a little favor, like choosing the film they'd watch that night or getting the nice deck chair by the pool. The one who lost had to change Harper's and Ford's nappies.

Tim’s director turned out a little indecisive but manic, a combination Tim should come to dread, and the overall atmosphere with the project he'd fought so hard for getting in was beginning to feel like lukewarm indifference. It started to show that Felix didn’t cope well with Hollywood pressure, passing the buck on to his cast and crew, which - combined with the tension between Armie and Liz – made Tim feel more and more stressed and anxious.

Doubts began eating away at him. Would he be able to deliver a good performance? What would happen to his career if he failed? His insecurities grew, often keeping him awake till the small hours.

It was a week until shooting would start when Tim woke up one night, at first unsure why. Then he saw her sitting on the end of his bed, her frame dark against the light shining in from the corridor, her long hair hanging in front of her face like a veil. She was wearing what seemed to be some sort of Kimono with wide sleeves, the silky fabric gleaming in the low light. Her bare feet were placed on the mattress just inches away from Tim's knobbly knees peeking out from beneath the thin sheet.

“Hey, Liz, what's up?” Tim leaned on one elbow, brushing his curls out of his face. He felt a little dizzy. He often did these days. “Everything okay? How long have you been sitting here?”

Liz just shrugged, winding her hair round and round her index finger. Her shoulders were shaking and Tim suddenly realized that she was silently crying.

“Hey, Liz, please... you're freaking me out here. What's going on? Is it the kids?” He feared she might start another scene and already felt annoyed for being woken up.

“No, it's not the kids. It’s just...” The rest of her words were drowned out by sobs.

“Liz, please...” Tim sat up. He knew he should probably hug her but he also knew that he didn't want to. He simply wanted her to leave and go back to sleep.

“Is it Armie?” He sighed.

She nodded in response.

“Listen, it's really none of my business. I mean... I'm just twenty-one, what do I know about marriage? Maybe you should talk to someone professional?” God, he was just so tired of this shit.

“Oh, but it is your business, Timmy.” Her voice was soft. “You know why we fight all the time? Because of you.”

“What?” Tim couldn't follow her. “Why... I mean...?” He was lost for words.

“Do you really think I don't know what happened in New York? Or at Sundance.” Liz wiped her nose on one of her silky sleeves. “I thought if Armie could have his way with you for a bit he would stop... he would eventually go back to normal. If you just let him. I told you back in Italy that you're not the first of his little flings. I usually turn a blind eye... I knew when we married so...” She shrugged. “I thought if he would fuck you it would be over soon. But you turned out to be such a stubborn little thing.”

“But… but you asked me to stay here, with you.” Tim had to pinch himself to make sure he wasn’t still dreaming, trapped in a surreal nightmare. “And he didn't touch me since Sundance-”

Liz raised her hand and sighed. “See, and that's the problem. I can't... meet his demands at the moment.” She gestured vaguely all over her body. Tim really didn't want to know. “But he needs a distraction. An outlet. Especially now with his injury. Or he'll go mad.”

“I... can't follow you, Liz.” Tim felt totally at sea.

“Why do you think I invited you? When Armie came back from Utah he was... well, in need of something I can't give him right now. But you can. And if I didn't get all your glances wrong you want to. Don't you, Timothy?”

She still hadn't learned how to properly pronounce his name.

“What are you asking of me, Elizabeth?”

She turned her face away so he saw her in profile. “Why don't you just go over to our bedroom and... see where that takes the two of you? And I'll lie down here. And tomorrow, maybe, the air will have cleared a bit.”

Tim just stared at her, unable to process what he just heard.

“Are you setting me up with your husband?” He croaked out after a moment of shocked silence.

“Well, it's the next best thing, don't you think? We all know each other, he likes you, you're already here, in our house, enjoying our hospitality... why not show your gratefulness in an act of kindness towards your friends? I swear there won't be any hard feelings from me.”

“Is that what all of this was about in the first place? For me to, I don't know... take the edge off things here?”

Liz bit her lip as if to suppress a smile. “Would that be such a bad thing? I mean, it's not that you don't want to, is it?”

Tim couldn't deny that. And still – this felt totally weird.

“Yeah, but maybe on my own terms?”

“Well, take it or leave it. I won't humiliate myself again.” Liz’s voice hardened.

Tim sat there for a solid minute, thinking. Could he, should he accept her offer? Wasn't her proposal a little sick? But then, he had already slept with her husband in secret anyway. Now he could do so again, with her blessing. No shame, no guilt. All mature, arranged between consenting adults.

In the end, his very own interests won over his sense of decency.

He switched on the little lamp on his nightstand to search for his discarded t-shirt. That was when he saw. Liz had tucked her hair behind her ears and her left cheek was swollen, her lip split. Tim stared, unable to tear his eyes away.

Just as he was about to say something Liz shook her head, holding up her hand again. Her fingernails were short and bitten.

Tim swallowed. “Okay, then.” He kicked back the sheets, still feeling a little uncertain. “I see you in the morning, then, I guess?”

“Good night, Timmy.”

He didn't look back as he left the guest room to pad down the stairs and walk over into the master bedroom.

Armie was sitting up in bed, nursing a drink, just wearing boxer shorts and the sling for his injured shoulder. He didn't seem the least bit surprised when Tim opened the door and stepped in, hesitating a moment on the threshold.

“Hey...” Tim raked his hands through his curls.

“That took you some time.” Armie stared up at him, his eyes a little bloodshot. Tim had no idea how much he'd already had.

“Uhm...”

“Take you clothes off and get into bed. Don't make a sound, we don't want to wake the kids.”

Tim blushed but stripped, shedding his underwear and t-shirt, then climbed into bed. Somehow, Armie's matter-of-fact way turned him on.

He lay on his back next to Armie, waiting until he put down his drink. Armie turned, gazing at him hungrily

“God, you're thin. It's beautiful.” His big left hand came to rest on Tim's concave belly, thumb and pinkie almost reaching his protruding hip bones. He stroked him, not down between his legs but up over Tim's emaciated ribcage until his fingers loosely wrapped around Tim's throat. “You look so frail, so vulnerable. Like I could break you if I'd be too rough with you.” Armie whispered before leaning in, pushing his tongue into Tim's mouth, tasting of tobacco and scotch.

Tim melted as Armie's lips moved down his body, licking his neck, his sternum, biting what little tissue Tim still had left on his lower belly...

When Tim yelped in pain the hand around his throat tightened until he couldn't breathe.

“I said quiet.”

Armie held him like this for a minute even after Tim nodded, only releasing him when his arms and legs started to twitch.

His neck hurt but his cock was more than half-hard, leaking, obviously approving of this violent treatment. It was both embarrassing and liberating.

“Turn around, on hands and knees. Spread.”

Tim did as he was told, feeling exposed but at the same time aroused by Armie’s short commands. He heard Armie fumble behind him before cold lube hit his hole. Without any other preliminary, Armie lined himself up and pushed all the way in.

It was neither gentle nor tender. It was rough and raw and it hurt. Tim lowered his head and bit the pillow, trying to adjust.

Armie was grunting behind him, his breath ghosting over Tim's tense back.

“God, you're still so tight.”

Tim keened.

Suddenly, he was flipped over, landing on his back while Armie's good hand gripped his curls, pulling his head back until tears flooded Tim's eyes and his back arched off the mattress. When he gasped with the ache Armie's hand let go, first slapping him left and right before traveling lower until it wrapped around his throat again.

“No, please-” But Armie didn't listen. He squeezed, fucking into Tim until he saw black spots dancing in front of his eyes – not sure if it was because of the pain or because of the lack of oxygen.

Just as he feared to pass out, Armie stilled.

Then his hand was gone along with his cock. Tim panted, gulping for air like a fish out of water until Armie knelt over him and forced his hard cock down Tim's sore throat, steadying himself with his healthy hand against the headboard of the huge double bed while his legs pinned Tim’s arms down, surely bruising his pale skin.

“Suck!”

Tim did as best he could, spluttering and choking while Armie fucked his mouth ruthlessly. He tasted lube and blood – his own from a split lip? – as he tried to concentrate on breathing through his nose but it was futile. His body quickly screamed for oxygen while panic further tightened his windpipe; Armie was so deep Tim fared he might trigger his gag reflex, making him to throw up.

When Armie eventually came down his throat with a shuddering groan Tim's face was covered in tears, spit, snot and cum, shooting out of his nose as he coughed and retched.

He was exhausted, his body hurting. His cock lay limp and soft between his legs, all arousal long forgotten. Through swollen lids he saw Armie go over to the bathroom and Tim used the respite to literally get his breath back until Armie returned a few minutes later.

“Go clean up. Mercedes doesn't need to see that in the morning. Don't soil the sheets. Who knows what she'll make of it. We don't want the staff selling our little secret to the press, do we, Timmy?”

Tim shook his head and somehow managed to get up, dragging himself into the bathroom. His ass hurt, dried lube and maybe some other fluids itching between his cheeks and thighs. His eyes and lips were red and puffy and there were purple bruises on his belly where Armie had bitten him, as well as marks on his upper arms. 

He washed his face and decidedly didn't look at the cloth he used to wipe himself off between his buttocks before throwing it into the hamper.

He still felt dirty. 

Empty. 

Used.

But when he came back into the bedroom Armie was upon him, hugging him with his good arm, guiding him into bed, laying him down before wrapping him in a soft blanket, gently kissing his forehead.

“Thank you.” He whispered, pecking Tim's cheek, his temple, his fingers raking through Tim's sweaty curls. “Thank you for giving me that. You’ve no idea...” Armie turned him onto the side, spooning him from behind, his huge body warm and protective. “...no idea at all how it is... to be forced to hide, to adjust... to live with less than you need...”

Tim's eyes fell close but a small smile spread on his face.

Armie's hot breath ghosted over his nape while his fingers tenderly caressed Tim’s skin. “You're so beautiful, so tight, so pliant. You've been so good. With her... with her it's always 'My hair! Don't leave marks! This hurts.' And she's gotten fat, don't you think? Fat and flabby, stripes on her belly, tits and ass sagging, her cunt so lose I can barely feel any friction when I fuck her... while you're just starting to bloom, getting more and more gorgeous every day.”

Tim snuggled closer, drifting off to Armie's praise. He knew he shouldn't enjoy hearing him talk like this but, tired and worn out as he was, he couldn't bring himself to care.

Just before he fell asleep Armie made him promise not to mess about like his wife. Tim just sighed and mumbled “Yes, Armie. Everything you want” before going under, letting Morpheus shelter him in his blissfully condoning arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It'll get worse in the next chapter.


	7. Last Night I Dreamt That Somebody Loved Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, we descent further into the abysses of Tim's, Armie's and Liz's... affair.
> 
> Tim is in a really bad place in this chapter - internalizing guilt and responsibility that he doesn't deserve, blaming himself for other people's wrongdoings. But he can't see that right now. Give him time.
> 
> The title is a song by The Smiths.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, please listen, I think I should point out once again that this story is really dark. I'm going places here that a lot of people are deeply uncomfortable with. That's why I put up all those warnings, locked it and tagged it as non-con. Please, if these things trigger you, don't read this!  
> Right now, this story is at one of its worst places. And there won't be a usual happy ending. There can't be after what happened and will happen. Yes, this is sick, brutal, unhealthy. It's definitely not SSC. You should know that when you proceed.  
> This is also not my idea of a good, healthy relationship. If you're looking for that - look somewhere else.  
> But I take the freedom to explore these dark waters with as much creativity as I can muster. Some parts, like this chapter for example, have been extremely difficult for me to write. I did it anyway. Because I like pushing my limits. You don't have to like that, but please just leave if this is not your jam.   
> In the end, this is just a story, no one was harmed by writing it. Keep that in mind.  
> Thank you for reading!

Looking back, Tim wonders why he didn't put a stop to it or left the next day. Lying on his bathroom floor in New York eighteen months later, staring at the ceiling, he remembers too many occasions when he stood in Armie's and Liz’s bathroom in LA in the spring of 2017, gazing at his reflection in the mirror, at his bruised, aching, wiry thin body.

Was he just too weak and exhausted from constant dieting, mentally and physically drained from long days of shooting an exceptionally grim movie, that he couldn't muster the strength to call it all off? Was it because he thought back then that he might need Armie’s connections in Hollywood, that Armie, with his background, who knew everybody, could open doors for him? Was he still dazzled by the façade the Hammers had established? 

Or was it because he was a little bit in love with Armie?

Love… Tim snorts a laugh before biting down on his fist to stop himself from succumbing to a hysterical giggling fit. This really isn’t funny…

Because he knows exactly why he stayed, why he allowed Armie to do these things to him; to tie him up, whip him with his belt, spank him, choke him almost unconscious, fuck his throat and ass so hard Tim cried when Armie came.

No, none of the above reasons applied. Tim wasn't the innocent victim here. He was just a scheming little shit, selfish and vain – because his true reason for putting up with Armie’s kinks was to get one over Liz. So he simply got what he deserved.

He could give Armie something she couldn't – no-one else could – and that made him endure all the pain and humiliation. Afterwards, Armie would stroke him and kiss him and promise him to be more gentle next time – telling Tim that he just drove him mad, made him lose control, that what they had together was something Armie did never have with anyone else.

And Tim believed him.

He made Tim feel special. And Tim bathed in the attention – even if it hurt like sitting in a tub filled with acid.

He can't remember the exact date when Liz started to watch them.

Armie usually insisted on having a few drinks in the evenings to loosen up, relax, and for Tim to leave the day on set behind. Later, they would smoke a reefer (and Tim would be grateful for it because it took the edge off when Armie strangled him or kicked him or yanked him about by his hair).

When it was over he mostly tried to forget the anguish, the things Armie made him do, concentrating on Armie holding him instead, running him a bath, handing him some lotion to rub into his welts.

Therefore, the nights blurred until Tim became aware one evening that the door to the master bedroom opened slowly while Armie was fucking him from behind. Tim was facing the door and made a sound when Liz sneaked in, silent, her back pressed against the wall, but that only gained him a sharp slap on his ass before Armie's palm closed over his mouth.

Tim remembers staring at Liz the whole time while her husband pounded into him, gagging him with his huge hand. And Liz just stared back, eyes wide, unblinking, her face blank until her right hand vanished between the folds of her kimono. Tim heard Armie grunt and felt him thrust even deeper as Liz’s face started to redden, sweat breaking out on her forehead.

“Yeah, baby, that's it...,” Armie groaned and Tim wasn't sure if he was talking to him – or his wife.

Tim watched Liz touching herself, breathing faster until almost sliding to the floor when her legs nearly gave out as she came, biting her lips to stay quiet.

Moments later, Armie stilled, and Tim felt him swell inside him, pulsing. Wet heat filled his body and Tim had to close his eyes.

“God, that’s so hot, baby.”

When Armie pulled out his cum trickled from Tim’s aching hole and down his trembling legs, adding to the mess of sweat and lube on his skin. Tim just curled up on his side, burying his face in the pillows. He'd long since given up hope of being allowed to come himself or Armie taking care of him in that department, so he just hugged his shins and tried to get his breathing back under control.

When Armie nudged him a few minutes later to make him go to the bathroom to clean up he looked back over his shoulder but Liz was gone. Tim wondered if he had maybe only hallucinated her presence, with all the weed and booze in his system.

In the morning, neither Liz nor Armie mentioned what had happened the night before over breakfast, where Tim was just allowed to eat some fruit and Liz sipped and orange juice while Armie dug into a plate filled with bacon and eggs.

But then it happened again the next night. This time, Armie had Tim tied up, spread-eagled on the bed, kneeling over him while roughly fucking his mouth so Tim more sensed Liz’s presence than he saw her. She must have been close, though, because he smelled her – her flowery perfume but also a more sweet-sour scent – and heard the silk of her kimono rustle as she moved.

She moaned so loud when Armie shot his load down Tim’s sore throat that the sound drowned out his own heartbeat hammering in his ears. Tim squeezed his eyes to block out the indignity of it all.

Before she left, Liz bend down over him, pressing the moist pad of her thumb against Tim’s cum-covered lower lip, her index finger tracing the tearstains on his face. Her long hair brushed his cheeks like a silky curtain and all Tim wanted to do was to turn away and hide.

When Armie untied him later he just rubbed his chafed wrists and ankles but didn’t say a word. He was already asleep when Tim returned from the bathroom.

He stood next to the bed for a long time, staring down at Armie’s golden, muscular, strong body barely covered by a sheet, the black sling holding his arm a stark contrast to his overall perfection - and wondered what he’d gotten himself into.

Yet he knew that it was too late to walk away untarnished. He’d made his bed – now he had to lie in it.

Armie wanted to get rimmed the next night and Tim prayed that Liz wouldn’t show up and see him like this, with his tongue up her husband’s ass, but maybe god realized that Tim wasn’t truly devout and therefore ignored him.

His face was burning hot while Liz sat next to him on the bed, the mattress dipping, but as he tried to turn his face away and stop what he was doing she grabbed his short curls and held him in place, pressing his head back between Armie’s buttocks.

“Is he good?” She asked, her voice low.

“God, yes.” Armie moaned. “Very… dedicated. You should… try him yourself… sometime.”

“Maybe I will.” There was a smile in her voice that made Tim feel sick. He rinsed his mouth thoroughly afterwards, trying to get rid of the bitter taste of aversion, until Armie called him back to lick his cum from the sheets.

His rivalry with Liz had reached a new high – or low.

Suddenly, there was a chair in the corner of Armie’s bedroom. Liz would sit on it, legs spread open, touching herself while Armie fucked or spanked or choked Tim, using him any way he liked, sometimes even suggesting a new toy or position.

When Tim tried to look away from her wet cunt Armie forced him to turn back around, often adding another ten strokes or a bigger plug for his disobedience. Liz smiled when he screamed.

Only when he was giving Armie a blowjob or rimmed him could he escape the view of Liz fingering her hairless, swollen, glistening pussy.

Oral became Tim's preferred acts, secretly hoping that Armie wouldn’t want to share his talent if he worked hard enough.

To his relief, Liz never again made a move to touch him. And of course they never talked about it. Ever.

But then Liz got bored and Armie had the idea that she could use toys. Afterwards, it became Tim’s job to lick them clean, Liz’s taste mixing with Armie’s in his mouth. It was filthy and he felt depraved for obeying but he never once refused. Because Armie would stroke him through it, play with his cock and nipples, mumbling that Liz was so sexy and would eventually make him a man.

Sometimes they blindfolded him which only heightened the sensation of being touched.

In what he could only describe as a perverted, twisted way he got off on their little games. Being watched by both Liz and Armie while being masturbated, maybe even riding a thick dildo still wet from Liz’s cunt while Armie’s cum eased its way inside his body made Tim feel desired, beautiful, special.

Powerful.

Once Armie spat into his face and he came so hard he almost fainted as he heard Liz moan with pleasure.

He was the joint linking them, his body a conductor for their shared lust.

Somehow, what they had more and more began to resemble a ménage à trois. Their own, strange version of it.

Only later would he become aware that this had been at least partly a lie. That they used his blissed-out state, his blindness (not only in a physical way) to take pictures and videos of him like this – used, depraved, his body covered in allsorts of fluids...

As he gave in to their advances, foolishly trusting them, even thinking of them all as lovers, he gained privileges outside the bedroom as well. For example, he got access to Armie's credit cards and was allowed to drive their cars. He felt a bit like a kept man and that wasn't entirely inconvenient. It felt both naughty and sophisticated. His sister would have hit him over the head but for the first time Tim could buy the designer wear he so desperately wanted, dress himself the way he'd dreamed of since he'd been twelve. 

While Tim was taking care of Armie’s needs, Liz took care of his. When he was allowed to gain weight mid-production, Liz made sure he got the protein shakes he liked. She even baked him cake, urging him to take an extra serving of cream, smiling at him as he licked it off his lips and fingers.

Armie enjoyed going shopping with hi,, which surprised Tim because Armie himself owned about three t-shirts and two pair of shorts. But apparently he loved to kit Tim out. And not just with any clothes. They went to Louis Vuitton in Beverly Hills, to Chanel, to Ferragamo where Armie would sit on a plush sofa, watching Tim presenting one outfit after the other, grinning and sipping champagne as Tim lost his shit over all the gorgeous shirts and trousers and shoes.

“Anything you want.” Armie said, and the staff smiled politely and brought another assortment of t-shirts, each costing more than the monthly rent for Tim’s shared apartment. When they took their loot home it was wrapped in boxes stuffed with rustling tissue paper. To Tim this felt like Christmas – even as he didn't celebrate it.

When they went out Armie would sometimes demand him to wear a certain garment he'd paid for and Tim humored him and obeyed. He’d never before thought about if he had a submissive streak but Armie made him suspect that yes, he liked being told what to do – not only in bed.

It was just so easy to accept it. And Armie really liked him like that. If Tim behaved like a good boy there was no need for severe punishment and Armie became almost tender. 

Those nights Tim enjoyed the most.

Therefore, the end of shooting Beautiful Boy came like a shock. Because Tim had to return to New York. Armie's injury was mostly healed and even Liz seemed better, more stable, happier.

They said good-bye, kissing him both – Armie deep, with tongue, Liz just a light peck on the lips.

That must have meant something, right? He must have meant something to them…

Now, of course, he knows he'd just been a means to an end – and that end had only partly to do with sex. But back then, for a short time, he'd believed that somebody loved him. 

Only much later did it occur to him that they had kinda brainwashed him, working with a system of reward and punishment to achieve what they wanted: his unquestioning, almost co-dependent trust and devotion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should probably have edited this more but I couldn't.
> 
> Okay, I'm sorry, you still with me?


	8. Don't Leave Me This Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Tim returns to New York it feels like withdrawel. He's only very slowly processing what happened in LA. Armie's behavior doesn't help, as he oscillates between pushing Tim away and trying to coax him back into his bed, leaving Tim reeling with conflicting emotions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for still reading, this chapter is a little respite.

When spring became summer and Tim went to auditions again, met friends, spent time with his family it felt... good being back home.

But there was an empty void inside him that he couldn’t fill. He’d tasted something that he craved and now that it had been revoked he missed it – even if he hadn’t always liked what he lacked now.

In LA, he'd had a purpose. He’d been someone special. He'd been desired, cherished, adored – maybe in an unusual way not many people understood but that he’d grown to find fulfilling.

In New York he was one struggling actor in a million, one skinny Jewish boy among an endless queue of twinks waiting to make it big. Despite being only 21 he felt jaded. With Armie, he’d been alive. There’d been adrenaline flooding his body – now everything looked washed-out, paled, boring.

Sometimes, Armie phoned, late at night, often drunk. He told Tim how much he missed him. Tim stayed mostly quiet, listening, imagining being there, what Armie would do to him...

He couldn’t tell anyone so he retreated into the privacy of his room, his head. He spent hours moping around, daydreaming. Gradually, he stopped going out. His old mates seemed childish, their struggles unreal and unimportant.

When his friends started to ask questions Tim just shrugged. He couldn’t talk about it, about LA, about Armie and Liz. What did his friends know about the thrill of desire, the force of passion? They still were mere kids, living in their perfect little world, the hardest decision to make for them which coffee topping to order at Starbucks. 

Once or twice he may have dropped a hint but paddled back just in time when they started to get suspicious, giving him this look of ‘what are you even talking about, dude?’

That’s why Tim preferred to be alone.

“You’ve been different since coming back.” Giullian said one rare evening they’d spend drinking in their kitchen.

“Well, shooting that movie in LA has been exhausting… not always in a good way. I've learned so much and I’m sure it somehow changed me…” Tim rambled, saying the things he knew he was supposed to say.

“I’m not talking about LA. I’m talking about Italy.”

“Oh.” This suddenly got too close to home.

Giullian looked at him for a long minute and Tim was aware that the perfect moment had come to open up and be honest, that his best friend would listen, perhaps could even comprehend what was going on inside him, that it might help to talk about it… about Armie, about Liz, about the things he'd done... a confession. And maybe, afterwards, absolution?

But he couldn’t.

And then the moment passed. Giullian offered to open another bottle but Tim said he was tired and went back to his room, lying awake half the night, staring at the ceiling.

Time heals, they say. The fuck it did.

One night in August Armie told him he was in Montreal, shooting a new film. That he was there alone. Tim offered to board a plane and fly up over the next weekend.

“I don’t think that’s a very good idea.” Armie suddenly sounded defensive.

“But you said you missed me. I can come. It’s no hassle.”

“Yes, I miss you, but that doesn’t mean I can see you right now.”

“That’s just bullshit, Armie. You don’t have to protect me. I won’t break.”

“Sorry, Tim, I have to go.”

Fuck next weekend, Tim thought, and booked the soonest available flight to Montreal, arriving there next afternoon. Via their PR agency he had found out where Armie was staying but when he knocked on his hotel room he was in for a surprise.

First, everything seemed normal. Armie opened, staring at him wide-eyed. 

“Surprise!” Tim grinned.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Armie quickly stepped outside and tried to close the door – but nor quick enough that Tim didn’t glimpse the sight of someone else in Armie’s room.

“Isn’t that obvious?” Tim suddenly felt a little silly.

“The only obvious thing is that you must’ve lost your mind. I told you not to come.”

“You also told me you missed me.” Tim suddenly felt embarrassed, on the verge of crying.

Armie raked a hand through his hair. “Listen, Tim… we need to talk about this. Does anyone know you’re here?”

“No.” He whispered.

“Good. That’s good. I’ll get you on the next flight back to New York. I’ll text you the details. Here…,” he took fifty Dollars from his wallet, “get yourself some lunch. Or dinner. Not down at the restaurant. Somewhere else. Okay?”

“Whose in your room, Armie?”

“You better go now or I’ll withdraw my offer. And don’t ever do this again.” He turned and went back inside his room. Tim stood in front of the closed door for a long moment, contemplating to knock, kick, throw a fit, make a scene – but then he just walked down the corridor in the directions of the lifts.

Armie’s fifty Dollars went to the first homeless Tim encountered on the street. He trailed the city as if sleepwalking until Armie’s text arrived – just a flight ticket number – and Tim got into a taxi to the airport.

He silently cried the whole flight back, pulling his hood over his head to hide his tears.

They also say distance makes the heart grow fonder but in Tim's case it felt like slowly waking up from a dream – or a nightmare - over the last days of a hot New York summer. 

Back home after his failed trip to Canada he met a girl and kinda dated her for a few weeks. It was a good, healthy, normal, fulfilling experience. But not an exciting one.

They went out for coffee, lunch, dinner, brunch. They slept together and she didn’t slap him or choked him or called him a worthless whore. Tim lay on top of her as she moaned in his ear, kissed his neck, stroked his back. 

It was so vanilla it soon sickened him.

When he ended it she cried. Will and Giullian didn't understand. But he just couldn't continue what felt like a half-life when his true desire lay with someone else.

Someone who hadn’t called in weeks and whom he didn’t dare to phone, afraid of yet another rejection.

The buzz surrounding Call Me By Your Name helped him to distract himself. Word was getting around that their Italian film was something special and that Tim's performance was extraordinaire. Agents and directors kept calling, sent scripts or invited him to lunch.

Landing another role gave him new self-esteem. To please his mum he took a part in a rather conventional movie - but it was filmed by Woody Allen. As a born New Yorker, it had been his mother’s dream to once work with the master. Now Tim could at least give this to her by proxy.

He first saw Armie again in September when the big festival circuit began. It was a ride. Their film got praise by the bucket and they were lauded by critics and journalists, first and foremost Tim.

Armie was smiling a lot in those days, and sometimes Tim got aware that he was gazing longingly at him. But they simply were too busy with interviews and photoshoots and Q&A's to spend much time alone. In the evenings, Luca took them out, or Brian arranged for Tim to meet some important industry people to network.

Sometimes his agent shot Armie a look when he became too friendly with Tim, but he never said a word or asked. And so Tim didn't tell.

Remembering Montreal still hurt though. Both being carted off back home and the knowledge that Armie had had someone else with him. Tim remembered Liz’s words that he wasn’t Armie’s first on set fling…. Did Armie hook up with someone else? Those thoughts were useless but inevitable. Tim did everything to forget his foolishly romantic gesture but it wasn’t easy, especially when they returned to Canada for TIFF.

In October, they flew to London. Tim had never been but he instantly loved it. On his day off he went shopping in Soho, returning with bags full of clothes Armie asked him to parade in front of him until he pinned him down on the bed to slowly make love to him.

It was a bit like their first time; languid, tender. Armie told Tim to ride him, stroking his cock to finish him off until Tim collapsed on top of him. They had breakfast in bed together the next morning and Tim was entirely grateful for the discreet staff of Claridge’s because he was just coming out of the shower, stark naked, when the maid walked in to serve their breakfast. She didn't bat an eyelid though as she opened the curtains and poured them both a cup of tea before leaving.

“I love the English.”

They collapsed in a pile of giggles on their unmade bed and it ended with them kissing and rutting against each other until their tea and eggs had gone cold.

But that was a one off.

After Tim got home the radio silence resumed.

Until Armie tried to make a pass at him again at their New York premiere when he cornered Tim during the afterparty and tried to drag him into the toilets. He was obviously very drunk. And loud. Sweaty. Touchy-feely. Slightly creepy.

“Armie, we can't. People are watching.”

“Let them.”

“Shit, no.”

Armie’s pupils were the size of pinheads, his face red, breathing labored.

“What have you taken?”

“Timmy, come on, don’t be like that…” Armie leaned in close, his breath ghosting over Tim’s face. He smelled of scotch. “Let's go to your place. I miss you, Tim. Don't you miss me too?”

Tim had no idea how to answer that.

“I’m here with my friends… I have a meeting in the morning-” He stammered.

Luckily, Giullian and Cody came for him, leading him over to the bar where they'd been chatting up a bunch of girls. Later, Tim heard that Armie had left.

He’d thought this was the most crazy his life could ever get but then the first awards started to roll in and Tim's life turned completely nuts. It wasn't just that he got nominated – he won as well. That was a totally new experience for him.

The movie's love story, his acting, was one thing that seemed to fascinate press and public alike when it came to Call Me By Your Name. Maybe even more talked about was Tim's 'chemistry' with Armie - a euphemism used to describe the loaded tension palpable between them on and off screen in a way that hinted at so much more while still keeping the true nature of their relationship opaque. Which fueled endless speculation, mostly online, creating a phenomenon no one had reckoned with.

Sustaining and feeding the monster became the PR machine's main goal. Things like this could make all the difference for a small Arthouse movie. To keep tongues wagging ambiguity was needed. Promotion never seemed to end. Everyone wanted a piece of the new Brangelina.

The irony wasn't lost on Tim. Yet it came to the point where he had no idea if Armie's sometimes borderline molesting behavior was just an extension of a role he played or born out of true emotions he couldn't bottle up any longer.

The boundaries between reality and fantasy blurred, sometimes upsetting Tim.

As their film gathered momentum, Liz attended more and more events. Not that Tim minded. She was quite good at handling her husband and so took some pressure off Tim.

Because Armie started to become a liability. He drank too much, smoked too much pot and then got into weird discussions with journalists, fellow actors, producers… even his Twitter followers. Liz’s presence usually calmed him down, made him placid and amicable.

But it was at these events all three of them visited that Tim began to notice that something was still off between husband and wife. Their smiles and touches seemed a little forced, a little too studied. They barely spoke to each other apart from the absolute necessary. When they were seated next to each other they both looked the other way or Liz stared into her phone while Armie stared at Tim.

Yet when Liz decided it was time to go Armie followed her obediently.

On his birthday, it was Liz who called him, not Armie.

“Oh, he's busy... somewhere. But he sends his love.” Tense silence followed.

“Thank you. That's very kind...” Tim stuttered. “How are things?”

Another loud pause. “They've been better. Anyway, let's not talk about us. How are you keeping up?”

“I'm fine. I'm with family and friends, we'll go out later.”

“Ah, the perks of being young...”

“You're not old, Liz. And you look even younger than you are.”

“Always so charming, Timmy. I wish Armie would say such nice things to me now and then. He used to, you know...”

“Liz, man, sorry, I have to go.” These were treacherous waters he had no idea how to navigate.

She sighed. “Sure. Have fun.”

Two days later a parcel arrived from Armie, containing a beautiful yellow Saint Laurent jacket – and some anal beads. Tim laughed and called him, joking if he wanted a picture of him with his gifts.

“Please, and with nothing else.” Armie said, a smile in his voice.

Tim humored him by just putting on the jacket and holding the beads in his fist.

“It's a start.”

“See you soon, Armie.”

Liz acted rather weird at the next few occasions they met, especially the Golden Globes. Tim was glad that he was with his sister, even more so as neither he nor Armie won. It wasn't that he minded so much – but he knew that Armie did.

“Come back to our place tonight, Tim. I need you.”

“Armie, I...”

“You used to love it. You know there are things only you can give me. I really need you.” His words were already slurred. The Globes were notorious for getting their guests ‘in the mood’ aka wasted.

“Armie, my sister is here. I'm not dumping here to run off with you.”

“No one’s saying that. Why not bring her along? She’s cute.”

Tim just stared at Armie, too shocked to answer. He must have been joking…

Armie knocked back his drink and glared at him. “Why won't you make good on me, hm? You get nominated for all these things and people fall over to get a selfie with you but remember, back in Italy, you were no one. Without me attached to the project Luca would probably never have gotten the money together to finance the film. Don't you think you owe me, Timmy?”

Armie’s voice had risen. Tim felt a little embarrassed. “Are you really trying to guilt-trip me into your bed?” He hissed, having lost a lot of his naivety over the past few months – not at least due to the eclat over his Woody Allen film. He'd been forced to take a stance over it. He wasn't as easily manipulated anymore as he'd been a year ago. He'd grown up – and learned of the evil ways the press and his rivals spun their stories to try and take him down. It had been a shock – but maybe a wholesome one.

“Not so much guilt-tripping as blackmailing, I guess.” Armie grinned but somehow it felt to Tim as if he was only half joking.

“Just cut it. You’re maybe way too shitfaced anyway.” And with that, Tim walked over to talk to Ansel, feeling better with every step he got away from Armie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm playing a little fast and loose with the timeline here. Call it poetic license...


	9. You Just Haven't Earned It Yet, Baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The calm before the storm. Tim discovers that Armie has betrayed his trust and makes a decision he'll soon regret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! We're building up to something here...

The European promo tour loomed large and a little frightening at the end of January, and it didn’t get better when the Oscar nominations were announced while they were on the plane. When they found out that Tim was in for best actor but Armie didn't score he started to order scotch and kept them coming.

As they flew over Iceland Armie was already drunk and picked a fight with fellow first class passengers. When the flight attendants intervened it almost came to blows.

“Armie, please, calm down, don't be such an asshole.” Tim whispered.

“Fuck it. Fuck them. Why don't they bring me another drink?”

“Because you had enough, man.”

“Fuck you!”

That was when Tim reached over and started palming Armie's cock, covering both their laps with a soft United Airlines blanket. Better give him a quick handjob to shut him up then to get thrown off the plane and pay for the unscheduled landing, stranding maybe some place in Ireland.

Armie's head sank against his shoulder with a sigh and he started to suck on Tim's throat so hard that by the time Armie came in his jogging pants Tim was sure the bruise would show.

It did, and it proved somehow futile to try and cover it.

“Fuck, Armie, what have you done?”

But Tim was just met with a shit-eating grin. “Hey, Mister youngest Oscar nominee in seventy years, deal with it.”

He hoped that the worst was over but he was wrong. Upon meeting Sony officials in Rome Armie threw an epic fit. In the end it was Tim who called Liz and begged her to get on a flight over here.

She arrived the next evening and they all went to a restaurant where they had a lavish dinner. Armie didn't just drink but ate something as well and Tim counted that as progress.

“Wife!” He shouted at Liz, and Tim moved aside to let her sit next to her husband.

Sony had organized a pap walk through Rome, passing the Fontana di Trevi. Tim loved the ancient city at night and tried to take in its beauty – partly to distract himself from Armie and Liz holding hands and kissing.

At least Armie seemed happy – that was all that counted. He simply couldn't bust the promo tour – not this close to the Oscars.

Tim hated his thoughts but, god – he was an actor. It was the highest honor to win an Academy Award. He didn't want to screw up. Not even by proxy aka Armie Hammer losing his shit.

That night at their hotel, Liz knocked on his door half an hour after they all had said good night.

“Thank you for calling me, Timothy. You did the right thing.”

“Thank you for flying over, Liz. Wanna come in?”

“Only five minutes.” She looked both ways down the corridor before setting foot into his room.

“You like a drink? There's something-”

“I'm fine.” She interrupted him, sitting down on the chair in front of the petite writing desk, kicking off her high heels. “God, what a day.” She sighed, shaking out her hair. Then she stretched and rolled her shoulders

It made Tim smile.

“Yeah...”

“Congratulations, by the way. I hope you won't forget us when you're famous.”

“Never.”

They looked at each other until Tim lowered his gaze.

“You know what he needs now.” Liz's voice was low, imploring.

“Liz, I... I can't do this anymore.”

“It's not for him this time, or for me. It's for you, darling. You’re that close-” She illustrated her words by holding up thumb and forefinger only about an inch apart. “For you to fulfill your dreams you need a functioning Armie. Lie back and... I don't know, think of an Oscar.” Liz smiled but there was something in her expression that made Tim uneasy.

“It took me some effort to... get over the last time. I'm not... hey, you guys have been so generous and kind but I just can't...” He felt himself blush. How was he to get out of this without making it look like a snub?

Liz stared down at her carefully manicured hands twisting in her lap. “Not tonight, Timmy. Nothing has to happen tonight. We're all knackered. And you have an early start tomorrow. But we all know that you're not averse to it... You did it before when you thought it would ease your way, with another couple. Oh boy! This time it will be really worth your effort, I promise.”

With that, Liz rose, quickly padded his arm, grabbed her shoes and left.

It took Tim a moment to let her words sink in.

Then it hit him. Because what she'd implied meant she knew. About John and Erin. Tim fell back onto the bed. The only person he'd told the story was Armie. Armie, who'd sworn not to betray his trust.

Well, apparently, he had shared his story with Liz.

Oh god!

Had she known all the time? Was that the reason she’d send him over to Armie? Why he had been invited to stay with them after Ford had been born? Why she joined them in the bedroom?

Tim suddenly felt like a whore. She knew, and she’d used her knowledge to manipulate him. Had her depression even been real, their crisis… did Armie really hurt her? Or had it all been an act? Would she do something like that? But what for?

Was she really into watching her husband fuck boys? Tim couldn’t believe it. She often seemed rather possessive.

Still, Armie had disclosed his most intimate secret, making him look like a slut. How many others had he told? His friends? His publicist? Colleagues? Did they all know?

This had to stop.

It would stop.

He wouldn’t do this again.

But then the next day during interviews Armie was gazing at him like he was the most delicious piece of meat (maybe that’s exactly what he was to Armie), fiddling with his wedding band while his expression didn’t leave much room for doubt what exactly Armie was thinking about.

And that was before he even mentioned The Night Porter.

During the following photo call Armie held Tim tight and close, whispering in his ear: “Have you thought about it?”

“Armie-“

“Keep smiling.”

Tim tried but it was getting harder – as was he.

“Armie, I really don’t think that’s a very good idea.”

“Why not? I miss you. We miss you.”

"Yeah, you told her, I know. Didn't you swear secrecy on your kid's life?" His anger made him brave.

"She's my _wife_ , Tim." Armie answered as if that would explain all. Maybe, to him, it did?

Tim locked himself in his room all afternoon, switching off his phone. He needed to think.

It was true, he needed Armie for the Oscar campaign. A sober, witty, good-looking Armie. Elio was nothing without Oliver.

So he would need to keep Armie happy.

And would it really be so bad? They had done this before and Tim had come out the other end alive. True, now it sounded as if Liz wanted to join them – but even that wasn’t entirely new.

So why did the idea bother him so much?

Liz was right – it would be a small price to pay for an Oscar. He knew quite well that usually a higher fare was demanded from young actors in Hollywood – for much lower revenue.

As an Oscar winner there would be no more humiliating, nerve-wrecking auditions. Directors and casting agents would call _him_. He could choose his roles. It meant creative freedom plus financial security – so why hesitate?

Because it had hurt so much the last time around? Because he felt cheap, used, like a discarded toy in the dirty game Armie and Liz apparently played? Because he’d almost fallen in love and was still not over it, couldn’t forget or come to terms with it?

Collateral damage…

It would be just a month. Then the Oscars and therefore promo would be over and he wouldn’t have to meet Armie and Liz again – ever. True, there was already talk about a sequel – but Tim had learned the hard way only to believe in a project when he finally saw it in the cinema. Anyway, a sequel would be years down the line – so many things could happen till then.

If Tim played his cards right he could be a celebrated movie star by then.

He stepped into the bathroom and undressed, staring hard at his reflection in the mirror.

He could do this!

So he showered, brushed his teeth, and put on tight jeans and an even tighter t-shirt to meet everyone for dinner.

To Tim's surprise it turned out to be another good evening for Armie. He was charming, funny and looked incredibly handsome in a blue woolen jumper and jeans while actually eating dinner, not just emptying bottle after bottle of wine.

“Will you join us for a nightcap?” Armie asked casually as they arrived back at the hotel.

“At the bar?”

“Nah, Liz brought Bourbon from the duty free shop. Come up to our suite to try it.”

Tim looked down at his shoes, scraping his toes over the thick carpet, painting an abstract pattern. He was aware that Armie was waiting for a decision – not only about the drinks.

“Boys?” Liz returned from reception with a keycard.

“Yeah, fine.” Tim looked up, his gaze wandering from her to Armie and back. “Lets go to your suite, guys.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big mistake, Tim, big mistake...


	10. Straight Into Darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We went straight into darkness  
> Out over the line  
> Straight into darkness  
> Straight into night  
> Oh, give it up to me I need it babe  
> -Tom Petty-
> 
> I remember reading somewhere that Armie married his Dom...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is about as non-con as it gets. Please, proceed with care, writing this made me slightly sick.
> 
> If it's too much just check in after ^^^^^^^ - it's all over by then.

Tim had kinda doubted it, but there actually was a bottle of Bourbon in Liz's and Armie's suite. And it actually was quite nice. Not that he knew much about expensive spirits but at least it didn't taste like nail polish remover. And it fulfilled its purpose as it quickly got him lightheaded and warm inside.

Tipsy.

It was always so much easier when he was inebriated.

While Armie poured another drink Liz left the sitting room. Tim thought she wanted to give them space and was grateful for her discretion.

Armie seemed relaxed, almost sober. This could be one of their more sensual encounters.

“Good, isn't it?” Armie asked, dropping down onto the sofa next to Tim after handing him his tumbler, once again filled with amber liquid.

Tim nodded, then knocked it back in one go.

“Woah, there, easy, Tim.”

“Can I have another?” His vision started blurring. He was almost there.

“I don't think you should-”

“Give him another.” Liz's voice bore no objection. When Tim turned his head he saw her standing in the doorway to the bedroom in what he could only describe as a negligee: black, see-through lace falling down to her feet still in high-heels, her long hair pulled back into a tight ponytail.

Armie did as he was told while Liz walked over to an armchair opposite the couch.

“Timmy, why don't you come over and sit at my feet?”

Tim felt hot and cold at the same time. This was not what he'd expected. He'd thought Armie would want to fuck him to take the edge off things; that maybe Liz would watch again. But what was happening now?

“Timmy!”

“You better do as she says.” Armie pressed the glass into his hand, then sat back down on the couch, nudging Tim's shoulder.

“O-okay.” Tim took another sip before staggering to his feet. He was swaying slightly as he sank down in front of Liz.

“Aren't you sweet?” Liz grabbed his chin, turned his face from left to right. “Isn't he sweet, husband?”

“Very.” Armie's voice seemed to come from further away than just the couch a few behind Tim.

Liz raked a hand through his curls. “Look, Timmy, I allowed Armie to have his fun with you. But he behaved really awful these last few months. Inattentive. Obstinate. He needs to be taught a lesson. So now it's my turn.” Tim swallowed. He had no idea where this was going and thought it best to just stay quiet and wait. “Armie will watch us. And assist. But nothing more. He doesn’t deserve it. You.”

To his own surprise Tim nodded. Her strict voice, her dominant demeanor somehow made him a little dizzy. 

Liz brushed a curl behind his ear, fingertips lingering against his skull. “Unzip. Take your cock out. Stroke it.” Her tone was firm.

Tim blinked a few times but sat frozen.

“Didn't you hear me? Unzip!” The slap was sharp and hurt. Tim's head flew to the right. His cheek burned.

“Ouch.”

Liz raised her left foot and dug the pointed heel into the muscle of Tim's right thigh, just above his knee. The ache shot through his body, making him gasp “You think that hurt? I can make you endure pain beyond what you ever thought possible. Don't provoke me!”

A nasty taste flooded Tim's mouth while his hands moved down to his crotch, unbuttoning his fly. Confusion mixed with fear as he pushed his jeans and pants down to free his cock. He held the flaccid flesh in his trembling hand, squeezing a little.

To his relieve Liz removed her foot from his leg.

“Come on, Tim, play with yourself. Don't be shy.” The tip of her patent leather shoe nudged his balls. A dull fright settled over him. How far would Liz go? 

He didn't want to find out.

Better to do as he was told.

Tim started stroking himself, tentatively at first but soon speeding up. It wasn't too bad. Masturbating in front of them had been something quite normal last spring. 

'Don't think about it, just get it over with.' He told himself.

Liz watched him, an almost cruel smile on her face.

“Does that feel good, Timmy? Does touching yourself in front of mummy feel good?”

Tim was blushing furiously. What was she saying?

But when Liz raised her foot again he decided to play along and nod.

“Suck your thumb in your mouth, baby.”

He felt silly. Not even as a child had he sucked his thumb. But whatever – this was at least much more harmless than the things Armie had done to him.

“Look at our sweet little boy, Armie. Isn't he a good boy?” Liz crooned, reaching out to touch the cheek she had slapped earlier.

Armie stepped into Tim's field of vision. “Yes.”

“Only this thumb-sucking... I think we should do something about that.”

“Yes, Liz.”

Tim's hand on his cock faltered. What the hell? Liz had just asked him to do it and now it was verboten?

“We told him so often but he just won't listen... I think he needs the firm hand of his daddy.”

“Yes... Liz.”

With that, Armie yanked Tim up from the floor by his hair and put him over Liz's lap. It happened so fast that Tim couldn't even react. He just went with it, limp as a rag doll. His bare cock got trapped between the scratchy lace of Liz's nightgown and his belly. It felt weird but not entirely unpleasant.

He more heard than saw Armie remove his belt. He knew that sound well. He closed his eyes in anticipation.

“Count.” Armie hissed.

“One – Two – Threeeeee – Fo-ur – Fiveeeee...” Tears stung in Tim's eyes. Liz subtly adjusted her position so his cock was now trapped between her strong, lace covered thighs. It was uncomfortable but provided friction.

The sensation made him stutter. He forgot the due number... was it six? Seven?

“I.Said.Count.”

“Baby, don't you wanna do as daddy told you?” Liz cooed.

Tim pressed his wet face against her leg. It wasn't so much the pain as the shame that made him cry.

“Sorry.” He muttered.

“Now daddy has to start all over again.”

“No, please... I'll be good. I promise. Please.”

“Start with one again.”

Tim squeezed his eyes shut, took a deep breath. He felt sick. His hands grabbed the armrest of the chair as he tried to get up.

“Sorry, I wanna go. Please, let me go.” He flexed his arms, pushing away. He had enough. This was a bit much for him, despite the drinks. They were getting into territory that made him truly uncomfortable. 

But Liz held him down, one hand at his nape, the other at the small of his back.

“What is this, little Timmy? Are you naughty again?” The hand on his neck pressed his throat against her leg, almost cutting off his air supply. He felt his body shutting down, just his feet skidding on the thick carpet. He couldn't move much as his jeans were twisted around his thighs, trapping him.

Shit! What was going on? His vision blurred and he was suddenly in another hotel room, almost four years ago... flashbacks flooded his brain, unwelcome memories that paralyzed him in their grotesque resemblance to what was happening now.

Please, not again...

He new where this was going, had known since the afternoon when he'd made his decision but now as the grim reality of what he had chosen crashed over him he simply couldn't handle it.

His body bucked up but it was futile.

“Armie, I think we have to tie him down. Get the rope.”

Much later, Tim will understand that he was by this point disoriented, traumatized, drunk, short of breath, crying and in pain. That his survival instinct kicked in, telling him that obedience was the safest way out. But back then he just felt weak, exhausted, overwhelmed, and with that came the conviction that he was not only worthless but that he somehow deserved what was happening to him. And so he caved... because it seemed easier than struggling.

But shouldn't he've been able to defend himself, free himself, if he'd really wanted to? Why couldn't he fight Liz and Armie? They weren't armed, Liz was just a woman. He should've been able to fend her off. That he didn't, couldn't was maybe the worst... because didn't it mean that, in the end, he invited, accepted what was coming? That he was okay with it?

Didn't he come here out of his own free will? 

So it was his fault that he was in this mess right now, reaping what he'd sowed. 

All these thoughts tumbled through his head, plunging him into a state of heightened panic that made rational thought about escape even more difficult to grasp. Blood thrummed in his ears and his heart fiercely beat against his ribcage as sweat broke out all over his body.

He fidgeted, but didn't really believe it would be any use. Liz was stronger than she looked – all those hours at the gym paid off – and Armie was back in no time with the ropes.

When he kicked out as Armie tied his ankles to the legs of the armchair Liz grabbed his hair and smashed his head against the armrest. There must have been wood beneath the velvet padding because a numbing pain spread through Tim's head and down his spine, his body going slack.

Fuck, that hurt! He thought he might black out.

“Stop it, you brat. Or I'll tell Armie to use something else than his belt.”

Tim felt woozy, defeated, unable to coordinate his arms and legs any longer. His head throbbed viciously. He didn't fight them anymore as Armie bound his wrists.

“Okay, where were we? Ah, yes, count. From one.”

Tim swallowed convulsively. He had forfeited his chance to escape. All he could do was endure what was coming.

“One... two... three...” He whispered, concentrating on his breathing, the sweat trickling down his spine, the pattern of the carpet - until his voice gave out around twenty-five.

Armie stopped at thirty. Tim's ass was on fire. He felt flayed, violated. His face was wet with snot, sweat and tears.

“Now, now, baby boy. Come on, daddy will untie you and then you can suckle mummies tits. Would you like that?”

He didn't know anymore. Probably not. But it was his chance to get free. So he nodded and mumbled something that must have sounded affirmative.

He had chafed his wrists and ankles because he had pulled on his bounds in his agony. The skin looked sore. He felt needles and pins in his fingers and toes as Armie removed the ropes. 

When Liz pulled him up into a sitting position in her lap he winced. The pain in his buttocks was acute, throbbing, searing through him like an electric shock.

“Does it hurt badly, baby?” Liz exposed her left breast, offering Tim the peaked nipple. “Mummy will make it better.” She pressed the full, chubby handful of flesh against Tim's lips but he couldn't bring himself to open up. 

Liz shook her head in disapproval. “If you don't do as you're told you'll make mummy and daddy very angry. Do you want that, baby? I doubt you could deal with another thrashing. I also have a cane for when my boys gets really out of control. The belt was just kindness.”

Tim became aware that Armie was towering above them, phone in one hand, palming his cock with the other. Was he filming? Anyway, Tim couldn't take another beating. He groaned. God, this needed to be over. If Liz wanted him to play with her tits... well. Okay... He closed his mouth around the hard nub and tentatively sucked.

Warm, sweet-sour liquid filled his mouth and he turned away, coughing, spluttering, almost throwing up.

“Fuck!” Apparently, Liz was still lactating.

“Language!” Armie barked, slapping Tim's face hard with the palm previously rubbing his crotch.

Tim flinched.

“You need your milk, baby boy, to grow big and strong. Come on. Mummy's so full it hurts.”

“Please, don't make me do this...” Tim begged. He couldn't... “Please, no.”

But Liz just pressed her nipple against his lips, insisting, shutting him up. It was still moist and slightly sticky. Tim tried to pull back, recoiling. 

“If you're a good boy this will be over soon and you can go to your room and sleep. Come on. I won't ask nicely again.”

Armie bend down to retrieve the belt from the floor. As his fist tightened around it Tim choked out a sob, his tongue darting out to lick over Liz's breast, lapping up the thin whitish liquid trickling from her stiff rosy nipple.

It tasted vile. Saccharine, but also stale, pungent, oily.

“Come on, suck harder, baby. Swallow it all. Mummy's been waiting for you.”

Tim was silently crying by now, his hands balled into fists. He felt so ashamed he wanted to die. 

While Liz nursed him and Armie filmed, her fingers closed around Tim's limp cock. They were surprisingly cool.

“Poor baby... mummy will be so good to you.” She tugged and squeezed – but nothing got him hard. “Oh, husband, look at our little boy. Something's wrong with him.”

“Don't you like mummy playing with you?”

_'No!'_ Tim screamed in his head as he swallowed another mouthful, allowing for some milk to drip from the corners of his mouth.

“Let mummy milk you, baby.”

Tim pressed his eyes shut and dreamed himself somewhere else... Italy, Crema, the garden of the villa, lying in the grass, the sun warm on his skin, bees humming, the smell of peaches in the air...

It was no good. In the end, they realized that he wouldn't get it up.

Liz wiped her hand on his t-shirt before releasing him, covering herself up. He staggered to his feet, his legs shaking, almost stumbling as he simultaneously pulled up his trousers and made for the door.

“Where do you think you're going?” Armie sounded dangerously calm as he gripped Tim's upper arm.

“To... to my room?” Tim slowly turned around. His stomach clenched. He had trouble to swallow down the bile rising in his throat.

“Ah, but not before you got mummy off, baby. Put that offending thumb of yours to some good use.”

Tim looked over his shoulder at the door, ready to bolt.

“It's locked, Timmy. You can go when mummy's happy.”

And with that, Liz pulled up the black nightgown, spreading her legs wide while Armie grabbed his sore wrist and pulled him back down to kneel between her thighs...

^^^^^^

An hour later, Tim stood under the spray of his shower, scrubbing his body raw. He felt so hollow he couldn't even cry.

What the fuck did he just do? 

_'Don't think about it.'_

After toweling off Tim stuck two fingers down his throat – not the ones that had been inside Liz – and forced himself to throw up. When his stomach was empty he used almost half a bottle of mouthwash to get rid of the foul taste in his mouth and on his tongue that had been-

DON'T THINK ABOUT IT!

He had to forget what had happened. Had to lock it away in a box never to be opened again. This wasn't him. This couldn't have happened to him!

He knew he'd brought it upon himself. The only way to deal with it was to suppress the memory, block it out.

Don't think about it. Don't remember. It didn't happen.

It.Didn't.Happen.

Ignorance was bliss.

Lying in bed, his ass still hurt like hell. He had to turn onto his belly to find some rest. Just as he was about to drift off, his phone pinged.

“Mummy was very happy with her little boy.” Tim nearly threw his phone against the wall but it vibrated again. This time, it was a photo: He in Liz's lap – only her face was cut off – sucking on her breast, a thin trickle of milk running down his chin. Her fingers wrapped around his cock. “And look at the footage we've got – we could post this to Datalounge anytime. So you better do as we say from now on. Good night, little Tim.”

Tim stared at his phone until the screen went black, then buried his face in the pillow, holding his breath until it felt as if he was about to pass out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might not be able to update till Sunday as I'll be traveling. But the story is written, I promise it will get lighter. There's a silver lining at the horizon so it will feel like a second part as Tim breaks free and slowly starts to deal with what happened ... and he won't be alone in that.


	11. Help Me, I Think I'm Falling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim starts to come to his senses and tentatively reaches out for support.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait and thank you for still reading. It's slowly getting a little better for Tim from now on.

Shame is a strange beast. It paralyzes you when you least expect it, but it also helps to completely ignore its cause.

The next day they flew to Paris. Thank god it was just a short flight for Tim could barely sit, fidgeting in his seat. Liz browsed through fashion magazines while Armie played with his phone.

Business as usual; a facade masquerading dark undercurrents.

It didn't help that it was a bumpy flight. Tim was grateful that he'd still been too sick in the morning to eat breakfast for he would only have expelled it on the plane in a rather undignified way.

Watching the Hammers act as if nothing had happened last night felt like having been dropped in a parallel universe. Everything seemed false to Tim, fake, as if being separated from his own reality by a thick wall of frosted glass, his old, normal life vaguely visible on the other side, foggy and out of reach.

Disconnected.

He was utterly alone, fearing to lose touch, silently screaming inside but still functioning like it was expected from an adult, politely allowing for Liz to pass, smiling at the flight attendants, even answering Armie's questions about Paris while his skin felt too tight and his insides revolted.

After checking into their hotel, Tim called his sister. No way was he spending another evening alone with Armie and Liz.

“Hey, little brother, how are you?”

“I'm... I'm fine... yeah...” Even he heard that he sounded anything but.

“Everything alright, Timothée?”

“Yeah, sure... just, the stress. And we had an awful flight-”

“Stop lying to me.” Shit! Pauline just knew him too well.

“It's... nothing. Maybe I'm getting a cold?”

The silence between them was heavy with concealment and suspicions.

“Do you have time? Can we meet?” Apparently, his sister had made a decision. He'd never been very good in fooling her and maybe right now he didn't even want to?

But habit and his last shreds of pride required him to stall. “I thought later, perhaps-”

“No, not later. Now.”

Tim felt too worn-out to fight with her. “I'm at the Hilton near L'Opera. I think our interviews start in an hour.”

“I'll be there in thirty. Meet me in the lobby.”

Tim took another shower before dressing all in black and going downstairs. He ordered a coffee while he waited, biting his nails, not even attempting to read one of the French magazines scattered on low tables.

Pauline was on time and pulled him into a hug. She smelled like apples, cheap detergent and winter air as Tim relaxed against her for what felt like the first time in twenty-four hours. He almost couldn't let go, clinging onto her like a koala to a tree.

“Hey, baby-brother, whatever it is, it really got to you.” Pauline laughed but it sounded forced, awkward as she stroked his back.

Tim felt bile rise in his throat hearing her calling him 'baby'. It reminded him of last night. He had to close his eyes and only held onto her tighter.

“Hey...” Pauline gently untangled herself and pulled back a little, scrutinizing him with her sharp gray eyes. “Hey, it's okay.”

They stood like this for a long minute until Tim felt stable enough to step back and sit down.

“You look horrible.” Pauline grinned but her face was scrunched up, brows narrowed. “What happened?”

Tim interlaced his fingers, twisting his hands nervously. His bitten nailbeds hurt. He knew he could trust Pauline... but he was just so ashamed.

He swallowed. “Last night... I did something... Something... really gross.”

Pauline's face fell. 

“Timmy...” She reached for his hand but he withdrew, hugging himself and pushing his fingers into the opposite armpits.

“No, it's my fault. I made a terrible mistake and now... shit. I'm really fucked, Pauline.” He felt tears well up in his eyes as he started to rock back and forth in his deep chintz covered armchair, biting the inside of his cheek to prevent himself form crying in public.

That would just be too much humiliation to bear.

“Have you talked to mum and dad?” His sister asked calmly but Tim could see how concerned she was.

“No!” In his attempt to reassure her he almost yelped. The couple at the table next to them stared over. “No. I can't do that.” He added a little quieter.

Pauline leaned over, this time prying his right hand free, squeezing it in her left. “Hey... we'll get this sorted. Can I do anything?”

Tim stared down at their joined hands. They looked so similar: slender, long fingers, prominent knuckles, slim wrists... Tim quickly pulled the sleeve of his black cashmere jumper down over half his palm to cover the still red abrasion on his arm.

To distract Pauline he asked: “Are you free tonight? After the screening? Can you meet me? I think Esther will be there too. I just need... to get out for a bit.”

“Of course. But...” Pauline hesitated. “Please, don't get mad at me Timothée... Has it something to do with Armie?”

Tim's head snapped up. “Why?” Too loud, too sharp.

“You know I don't like neither him nor his wife. He's entitled, boisterous and weak and she's... god... a harpy.”

Tim lowered his gaze, staring at the dregs in his coffee cup, unable to answer. Why was his sister so much smarter than him? 

Apparently, his silence was all Pauline needed to confirm her suspicion.

“Jesus fuck, Tim!” She hissed. “What did they do? Trying to oust you? I never understood why Armie got first billing... Or is it because of the Oscar nomination? I bet he's angry that he didn't get one-”

“Just leave it, okay. I can deal with it.” Tim mumbled, withdrawing his hand to fold his arms over his chest.

“Evidently not.” Pauline crossed her legs and pressed her lips together, looking at him intently.

“Just, be there, tonight, okay?” He blinked over at his older sister, hoping not to look as forlorn as he felt.

“Sure.” She gave him a curt nod, followed by a smile. “Hey, cheer up. It's so good to see you.” Tim wanted to hug her again but got whisked away by the assistant of his publicist to start today's press junkets.

When he encountered Armie in the small room they were assigned to for the rest of the day he wore a fucking black track suit. 

Tim frowned and was about to say something but one look from Armie made his mouth go dry, the words dying on his tongue.

The day passed slowly as they answered the same questions again and again. Thankfully, they were never alone. Even during the breaks their publicists were present, briefing them, preparing for the next journalist. Tim tried to concentrate but it got increasingly hard next to Armie in lose jogging pants, his legs spread wide, smirking and gesticulating while telling his anecdotes.

How could this man who whipped him so hard last night, who pressed his face between his wife's legs and made him lick her until she climaxed, calling him a fuckboy, come over so jovial today, Tim wondered? Was it a split personality? Or was he just a much better actor than even Tim thought possible?

Once or twice Armie made a rather crude reference to Tim's sex life and Tim blushed and cringed but kept smiling. Because what else could he do?

They barely had time to change before the premiere and were ushered to the waiting car in a hurry. Liz seemed in a mood, exchanging tense stares and muted hisses with Armie while Tim gazed out the window, watching Paris pass by without really seeing it. From the corner of his eye he noticed Armie shake his head a few times while Liz kept talking until he said loud and clear: “No!”

After that, Liz threw her head back and pouted, rushing past the waiting fans inside the cinema, her face stony. Tim was glad when he saw Esther and kept at her side, speaking French because he knew Armie couldn't understand it.

Just before he was to pose for the photographers, Armie took him aside. He froze as is brain couldn't decide on fight or flight, staring down at the carpet to avoid Armie's hard blue eyes.

But his words surprised him: “Tim... listen. Don't worry. I would never... this all went a bit too far. I just... need this whole thing to be over, okay?”

Tim nodded, dazed. What did Armie mean? The promo tour – or whatever was happening between them?

Armie continued quietly: “Are you okay? Does it hurt? It got out of hand last night. We shouldn't have done what we did. But this is all so... I don't know. Intense.”

When Tim looked at him he seemed... shaken. Troubled. His eyes were clouded with something almost resembling sorrow.

“Just never do this to me again, okay?” Tim mumbled, talking to Armie's feet. Huge feet. Like his hands. Which could be so gentle but could also inflict so much pain. “Never touch me again. Keep away from me.”

Before Armie could answer Nicole pulled Tim away to meet the sea of lenses and flashlights aimed at him. He felt overwhelmed, shyly brushing his hair behind his ear but the photographers shouted praise and demands in French and hearing the familiar language made him smile.

He was home.

Afterwards, they met Pauline and ended up at a McDonald's, which annoyed Liz so much that she made Armie call a cab. After they'd left, Pauline grinned from ear to ear and Esther ordered three huge chocolate milk shakes.

That and a Big Mac was the first food Tim consumed that day and the sugar rush made him feel almost euphoric. Esther and Pauline got on like a house on fire, chatting about mutual friends and foes and Tim could just lean back and let their soft voices wash over him.

He flew to London the next day while the Hammers stayed behind to take the train later because Liz wanted to go shopping. Tim was sure Armie had to make amends for last night's quarrel via an astronomous credit card bill.

Tim couldn't decide if he could believe Armie's apology. Maybe it was just another trick to lure him back, make him pliant and allow them to continue their wicked game? To silence him and break his spirit. 

But if it had been sincere it had just been Armie's decision. Liz hadn't been in on it, Tim was dead certain. Armie's objection had surprised and angered her. Or had it been another charade? Good cop, bad cop?

Tim now wondered if Armie really had beaten her last year. The way they behaved when together, their dynamic as a couple – how Armie had done everything Liz had demanded two nights ago - somehow made him doubt she would endure domestic violence.

But why? What was it all about? Just to have a threesome? By what Tim knew of Hollywood they wouldn't need to coerce and groom him for that. There were much easier ways to get it with someone who liked these things if that's what they wanted.

He didn't understand what was going on and that might have been the worst.

In London, Tim did most work alone. He had no idea what Armie was up to but it felt good to give interviews on his own. The press asked about the Baftas – for which Armie had neither been nominated – and Tim realized he felt confident and proud answering their questions. He seemed to get the hang of it.

Maybe it was his growing confidence paired with Armie's increasing annoyance that things got to a head in Crema. At the end of their week in Europe Tim became aware that Armie did his best to keep him and Liz apart, taking her shopping, posing for pics with her while his eyes followed Tim like a hawk. He seemed tense, looking gaunt, while Liz was all worked up and often outright rude to her husband.

In the afternoon of the day they returned to Italy Armie and Luca had an appointment with the mayor of Crema. As if she'd been waiting for the opportunity to get to him alone Liz took the chance to demand Tim to take a walk with her.

It was rainy, cold and foggy in Crema but Tim preferred to be outside with her, moving, with people around them.

She didn't beat around the bush or wasted her time with small talk. Liz meant business.

“Okay, Armie's trying to play it nice, but frankly, I don't have time for this. You saw one of the pics we have. There's also a video.” Tim wanted to say something but Liz cut him off. “No, shut up and listen. I agreed to marry Armie because he's rich and good-looking and he needed a beard to look straight. These are the requirements to make it to the top. But he's also an idiot. He's too soft, lacks direction. And he has this idea that he's an artist.” She huffed, brushing her silky hair back with a gloved hand. “Whatever. That won't stop me to get where I belong. I always knew that I was destined to be someone great.” She beamed at Tim as if expecting an answer. When he stayed silent she continued. “But Armie tried and tried, yet somehow he wasn’t making headway. As if he'd reached a dead end. Until he met you.”

Tim was speechless in the face of such narcissism. He could just stare at Liz which she seemed to take as approval.

“You are the next big thing. Youngest Oscar nominee in seventy years. You're going places, Timmy. And you'll take us with you. Otherwise...” She let the sentence hang in mid-air.

Tim suddenly got so furious he feared his legs might give out. “Otherwise?” He hissed.

“You really need me to say it out loud? Okay, I really hope you don't flatter yourself and think this is about sex because, honestly, you lack commitment, finesse and technique. No idea what Armie sees in you in that department but as I said, he's an idiot. Maybe he needs someone to... relieve tension? To feel like a real man? No idea.”

Her words felt like slaps to Tim's face. “Then what...?” He stuttered.

Liz stopped walking and stepped right up into his personal space. They were almost the same height and so her face was just inches away from his as she snarled: “If you don't keep mentioning Armie and your special friendship, continue to be seen with him, tag him and me on social media, take us to events, introduce us to the important people you meet I make sure people get to see those pics we have. I sent you an example. You will open doors for us or you'll regret ever meeting us.”

Tim already did. “You wouldn't. You're in those pics as well...”

“You really think people will look at me in those photos? Besides, no one can see my face. There might be speculations but that would only add fuel to the fire. It'll be your reputation and career that'll be ruined. With me and Armie there's not much of either.” Liz smiled but it looked savage and a little unhinged. Tim suddenly got really, really afraid what this woman might do. 

She seemed to sense his shock. “Come on, cheer up. You won't get rid of me. Neither will Armie. Not that he really wants to but sometimes I wonder... Anyway. You better get used to my company for I intent to stick around.” And with that, she grabbed Tim's arm and pulled him into a small boutique to buy a pile of children's clothes.


	12. I Will Survive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alone in London, Tim thrives... and meets someone.

During the screening in the evening, the cast was having dinner. They left the screaming crowds of fans behind at the cinema and went to a cozy restaurant in Crema, as Luca was determined to celebrate their return. 

When Liz excused herself to powder her nose, Armie leaned over. Tim was playing with the barely touched food on his plate and didn't look up, not even as Armie started to whisper in his ear.

“You better do as she says. Listen, I'm trying to rein her in as best as I can but she has these ideas stuck in her head-”

Tim balled his hands into fists, rubbing them on his thighs. “She's batshit crazy, Armie. Your wife is blackmailing me to become famous. You know what she told me this afternoon?” He kept his voice low, looking around if they could be overheard but everyone else was engaged in a loud conversation about Italian politics.

“Tim, it's not... she's not a bad person-”

“Ha!” Tim pushed his plate away. Luca looked over, frowning, before he continued to talk to Ferdinando and Vanda. “No, of course not. She's not a bad person, you're not a bad person – that's apparently just the way it goes in Hollywood, right? God, you all make me sick.”

He got up an walked towards the entrance, taking out his vape pen. A few fans stood outside and waved so he retreated into the toilet, locking himself in a stall until it was time for the Duomo party.

He jumped around, dancing, enveloped in a circle of bodies. Armie was somewhere to his left while Liz stood at the side, scrolling through her phone.

When Tim saw the boy he knew what he wanted to do. He hugged him tight and danced for a moment, swinging from side to side while he told the guy his room number.

He wouldn't be alone tonight.

Exiting the car in front of their hotel half an hour later, Armie tried to pull him to the side. “Tim, please... Let's have a drink, just the two of us.”

Liz was already waiting by the lift, impatiently tapping her feet on the terracotta tiles.

“Sorry, Armie, I'm meeting someone.” He answered coldly. “I think your wife demands your full attention.”

It felt so god damn good to turn around and walk away, taking the stairs two at a time.

There was a knock on his door at about one in the morning. For a moment, he feared it was one of the Hammers, but instead it was the dark-haired boy from the piazza. His skin was soft and hairless, his limbs lean and supple, and he let Tim top without hesitation, at first gently giggling at Tim's awkward attempts until he was moaning softly into the pillows.

They lay together afterwards, smoking, and Tim tried to make smalltalk in his limited Italian but the boy just shut him up with a smile and a kiss before he got dressed and left as silently as he had come.

“Prenditi cura di te.”

When Tim went down for a late breakfast the next morning he discovered that Armie and Liz had already checked out. On a whim, he decided to spend a few more days with Luca before returning to wintery New York City.

Maybe he'd hoped to meet the Italian boy again but it never happened. It was as if he'd been a specter, a chimera, send by some otherworldly power to make Tim fell better. Feel whole again.

It had worked, at least for that one night.

Because of Armie's increasingly unsteady and borderline blasé behavior on their European trip Sony send Tim alone to the Baftas two weeks later. He was glad and called his sister in Paris to invite her to be his plus one but she had to decline due to work commitments. She'd just started a play a few days ago she couldn't just cancel to hop over to London.

“We're not all Oscar nominated rising stars, little brother.” But there was no ire in her voice. It was just the way it was. Tim had struggled long enough himself to know that you didn't drop out of a production on short notice if you wanted to work again. “But do you remember Stéphane? I think he met you in Toronto a few years back? We came across each other over here and he just told me he's traveling to London for some castings. Why not take him? Better than going alone. And he’s funny.”

Tim wrote down his number. 

Truth be told, he remembered Stéphane quite well. Tall, intelligent, good taste in music. He might have had a little crush on him when they met in Canada. Maybe that was the reason he only called him on his way to the airport three days later.

“Salut mec quoi de neuf? Je ne sais pas si tu te souviens de moi? Je suis Timothée, le petit frère de Pauline ...”

“Hey, of course! You're having quite a year. Pauline and I just talked about you the other day.” His English had a slight French accent which sounded rather... cute. Very charming.

“Yeah, it's crazy.” Tim switched to English. It was easier for him when he was nervous. “Uhm, listen, I'm attending the Baftas on the weekend... in London... and I really don't want to go alone. I mean, all those famous people, ugh... so Pauline suggested... because you're in London as well, right? I mean, I totally get it when you don't have time or think it's boring and uncool or whatever but maybe, you know... not?” God, he was stammering.

“Are you asking me out?” Stéphane sounded amused if a little bewildered.

“Yes. No. Not like that. Not a date. God.” Tim groaned, internally slapping himself. “Just... you know... as a plus one. Well, not just but- fuck, I'm not really good at this.” Tim nearly dropped the phone because his hands were so sweaty. His taxi driver eyed him as if he thought him mad but hadn't decided yet if he was the harmless or the axe-murdering kind.

“You're asking me if I'd go with you to the Baftas. In London. At the Royal Albert Hall. That kind of Baftas?” Stéphane's voice was deep, smooth. It made Tim feel warm, calming him down.

“Yes. Yes, I am. Would you?” He closed his eyes and held his breath.

“Are you serious, man? I mean, why wouldn't I? You mean we'll meet Daniel Day-Lewis and Gary Oldman-”

“Don't mention him!” Tim giggled.

“Sorry.”

“And there's free booze, so I've been told.” Tim opened his eyes again, looking out the window just as they crossed Brooklyn Bridge, a grin spreading on his face.

“And we'll meet again.” Stéphane sounded seriously excited.

Tim swallowed down the glimmer of happiness spreading through his body. Don't get over yourself. It's a great career opportunity for him to network. He's just being polite, doesn't want to turn you down. Doesn't want to make this awkward. Nothing more

“Yeah, that's the basic prerequisite, I'm afraid.”

“Well, then I think you can count me in.”

Tim sighed with relief. “Thank you! So much. I'll call you when I've landed, okay, to give you the details.”

“Great. Au revoir.”

“Au revoir.” Tim mumbled, still clutching his phone when they arrived at the airport’s drop off point. By that time his driver smiled at him and even helped him to unload his luggage.

After a rough flight he just wanted to stay in his hotel room, sleeping off his jet leg, collecting himself, but apparently there was already some sort of party he had to attend in the evening. Nicole just gave him two hours to unpack, shower and change.

He realized that he had neither eaten nor drunk enough on the flight and was wobbly, a headache coming on. Good, he hoped he could just stand in a corner and sip an orange juice for thirty minutes before leaving the event quietly. No one would know who he was anyway so he might be able to slip away without embarrassing himself too much.

After the shower he remembered to call Stéphane but just reached his mailbox

“Hey,…ugh… I’m in London now. The flight was awful… uhm… yeah… so, I’ve to go now, some sort of nominees get together… whatever… god, sorry, I’m stuttering, I’m a mess. I shouldn’t complain, I mean, a year ago I just dreamed of attending things like this but… well… it’s been a long day… anyway, gimme a call when you’ve time.”

He hung up but before he could even put his phone on the bed it started ringing out again. Without looking – anticipating it was Nicole asking what took him so long – he answered, just sighing: “I’ll be down in ten, sorry.”

“Hey… okay... that’s quicker than I thought. Not sure I can make it in time.” Why was Nicole talking with a French accent? It took Tim a second to realize that Stéphane was calling him back. Right away. Immediately.

“Ugh, salut! I thought you were my publicist.”

“Sounded more like your slavedriver.” Stéphane sounded sympathetic.

“No, she’s great. Doing an amazing job. I'm a handful, always losing stuff and running late. It’s just… sometimes… well…” What was he supposed to say? Did he sound like an entitled asshole? Like a child who needed someone looking after him? God, why couldn't he be like a normal person, making small talk, chatting for a bit? Why was he always this babbling mess, revealing too much, literally wearing his heart on his sleeve?

But Stéphane didn't seem to mind. “Listen, Timothée, you sound knackered.” His voice pulled him back into the here and now. “Shall I, maybe… I don’t know… come with you tonight? I mean, I’m free. It’s either you or another evening at my dubious bedsit, just me and my phone and some greasy food, so…”

Tim felt his face break out into a huge smile. “Would you?”

“Of course I would, man. I mean, it’s been ages since I saw you.”

“That would be… really great. I’m not very good at these things on my own.”

“Haha, yes, I remember how nervous you can get. You nearly spilled your drink on that lady's dress...” Tim groaned at the memory from TIFF for One & Two but it also made him laugh. “Is there a dress code?”

“Just casual, as far as I know. Can we pick you up somewhere?”

“I’m staying near Earls Court.”

“Text me the address, I’m sure Nicole can arrange for it. In about half an hour?”

“Sure. Lovely. J'ai vraiment hâte de te voir.”

And just like that, Tim felt a whole lot better.

The evening turned out to be really fun. He and Stéphane reconnected instantly, complementing each other on the clothes they wore (Saint Laurent for Tim, Off-White for Stéphane), talking about music, books, people they knew, acting...

Only when Stéphane mentioned his life in Paris did Tim feel his guts clenching. The memory of him and the Hammers there was just too fresh.

“You okay?” Stéphane asked.

“Yeah, just the jet lag.”

“You look a little sick.”

“I’m a nervous flyer, that’s all. And then these cocktails... they're lethal, man.” Tim tried to smile and was grateful for the gloom in the labyrinthian bar that forced them to stand close together, surrounded by partying industry people.

The pre-Bafta event took place at Electric House in Notting Hill and it was a pleasant surprise to spent such an evening with someone who wasn’t going to be wasted after half an hour. Stéphane stuck to water after his first glass of champagne and Tim decided to do the same after his second Gin and Tonic made him feel dizzy. It seemed the sensible thing to do as everybody seemed to want to shake hands with him or take a selfie. “Where’s Armie?” Some asked and Tim smiled and dutifully told them that 'sadly' he couldn't make it.

He was sure it was all meant in good fun but his head started to pound after some time. He began to mix people up, got names wrong and confused films he had seen them in.

Stéphane had stood back a little, watching curiously, but suddenly he was by Tim's elbow, gently steering him away from the crowd and up the stairs onto a terrace. It was much less crowded up here due to it being a foggy February evening but the cold air felt fresh on Tim’s face.

“I think you need a break, Timothée.” Stéphane guided him towards a rattan couch and went to fetch some blankets.

They spent the next hour somewhat snuggled up together, gazing over nightly London, drinking hot chocolate a discreet waiter served them.

“This is very nice.” Tim sighed.

“This venue is amazing. Have you ever been at the cinema next door? It’s beautiful. We should go there some time while you’re here.” Stéphane sounded eager but not pushy.

Tim realized that he would really like to do that. “I’ll see if I can make room for it. Good, just to have some free time to spare again for once. This whole awards thing is so exhausting. Exciting, but exhausting.” He let his head fall back where it hit Stéphane’s biceps. “Ups, sorry.”

“I don’t mind.”

Tim just closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Did you ever want to be invisible?” He asked after a moment.

“Oh yes.” Stéphane answered, and Tim felt him pull the rug around them tighter. “But it’s not easy for someone like me.”

“Sorry.” Tim mumbled, feeling himself blush. “I’m an idiot.”

“No, you’re cute.” Tim couldn’t help but giggle. “Do you?”

“Sometimes I just want to disappear... because... I feel like a fraud. There are so many amazingly talented people down there… it’s just… overwhelming.” He confessed without any idea where this sincerity suddenly came from.

“You’re amazing as well.” Stéphane replied, his voice steady.

“Ha! You just say that because I brought you to a party where you can flirt with Saoirse Ronan or Tessa Thompson. She looked at you for a while and I think she liked what she saw.”

“She did. And yet I’m sitting outside on a freezing balcony with you.”

Tim elbowed him in the side, his face getting even warmer. “Shut up.”

But he didn’t open his eyes. Not just yet. He wanted to savour this moment, the closeness, the warmth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See, there's hope. Though it won't be easy.


	13. Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a lot happening here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _There's no-one left in the world_   
>  _That I can hold onto_
> 
>  
> 
> -The Cure-

Tim’s days in London went by in a whirlwind of meetings, photoshoots, interviews, parties – and in between actually some downtime he spent with Stéphane.

They just went shopping. Or for a coffee. Even to the cinema once to watch Black Panther, getting ice cream and sharing popcorn like everyone else.

It was fun. Tim relaxed.

Though he was reminded by a text from Liz not to forget to mention Armie on the red carpet. Which he dutifully did, gushing about his performance as Oliver while Stéphane stood back, his eyes fixed on him in what felt almost like protectiveness.

He’d been sure not to win but it still kinda hurt when Oldman took home another statue. Stéphane squeezed his hand and didn't let go of it for the rest of the ceremony, hugging him afterwards as he told him that he looked way better than Oldman in a fat suit and would still make great films when the other actor was long since dead. Tim knew it was wrong but it made him laugh again nonetheless.

At the after-party they danced with Naomi Campbell until she took off her high heels and jumped around, holding both their hands, calling them adorable muffins as she kissed them.

Tim was still giggling when they dropped Stéphane off at his bedsit.

“I would ask you up but it’s even shittier than it looks.”

“You can't shock me. I’ve seen cockroaches as big as rats, man. I’m from Hell’s Kitchen.” Tim just didn’t want to part.

“Well, here the rats are actually as big as cats so…” Stéphane trailed off. “It’s really awful.”

“Then come back to my hotel. I’ve got all satin sheets and a bathroom as big as my entire flat back in New York.”

“Yeah, and the paparazzi will have a field day. You, sneaking a black guy into your suite at night.”

Tim blushed. What did Stéphane insinuate? Because it hit close to home. Should he deny it? But he felt happy; he was sure that Stéphane had been flirting with him all evening, so why not step it up a little and see where this might take them. “I don’t care.” Tim didn’t lower his gaze, fully aware what he was implying.

And as Stéphane smiled Tim was sure he’d got him. But then he said: “And your Oscar chances?”

Tim rolled his eyes but the comment somewhat sobered him up. Too many people had worked too hard for a stupid rumour to fuck it all up. But he wouldn't back down without a fight, wanting Stéphane to know that he was serious. “They’re fucking slim anyway.” He stood up onto tiptoes, his face just inches away from Stéphane's.

When he sighed his breath ghosted over Tim's lips. “Ne vous méprenez pas, I totally would but… I don’t think we both are ready for this, Timothée. I’ll call you, okay.”

It felt like a slap. Tim took a step back, looking anywhere but at Stéphane. “Sure.” He mumbled. What had he thought? That someone as gorgeous as Stéphane would want someone like him?

“Hey… no… merde! That wasn’t… Timothée…” A warm hand reached for Tim’s wrist, pulling him close again. “That’s not what I meant. I promise to call you. Tomorrow. Let’s try to meet soon, when all this… this _folie_ is over. Just us, okay?”

The kiss was so quick that Tim only realized what had happened when it was over.

“Tu es unique. Merci pour un week-end incroyable.”

Tim stared after Stéphane, touching his lips with his fingers as the entrance door of his building fell shut behind him.

Tim flew over to LA the next day for the last leg of awards season. Stéphane stayed true to his word, reaching him just after he’d landed. They talked all the way to the Sunset Tower Hotel. He called the next day as well. And the next. They laughed a lot. Goofed around. Exchanged music. Sent each other silly snapshots and even sillier messages. FaceTimed.

Tim tried his best to give Stéphane a daily recap of the people he met, the events he attended, the sometimes strange, sometimes outrageous things he saw and heard.

“I swear, there was a bowl of coke on the table and everyone dipped in like it was icing sugar.” - “That place was... I've never seen anything like it. As if Salvadore Dali had got drunk with Mies van der Rohe and they both decided to design a building, unsure if they wanted it to be a medieval castle or a train station.” - “Wes Anderson talked to me about his next movie and it sounds fucking amazing.”

Stéphane listened, offering scathing comments or just admired Tim's stamina and endurance. But sometimes a serious tone crept into his voice.

“Are you okay? You look tired.”

“I’m fine.”

“Is there something-?”

“No.” Tim hastened to assure him, launching himself into another tale about Hollywood's rich and famous.

He couldn’t tell Stéphane about Armie –whom he had to meet almost daily for some sort of Oscar campaign event - and how his stares made him uneasy; how he sometimes touched Tim, seemingly by accident or casually but they both knew better; how he looked more tense every day, ready to explode; how he sometimes shouted at his publicist until she left the room, a grown woman reduced to tears. 

For now he directed his venom at the people he paid to work for him. But Tim had seen it before, he knew they were headed for disaster.

He even less could tell Stéphane about the texts he got from Liz:

_‘Now you’re into black cock, I see. Is it true what they say? Have been told they're huge. We both know you like that.’ – 'Do you scream when he fucks you like you did with my husband?' - ‘Whatever you do with your boy, don’t forget that your one true love is Armie.’ – ‘You think your new friend is interested to see what you’re into? Does he know you like it good and hard from guys but are also mummy's sweet little boy?’_

_‘Does it look like this when he fucks you?’_ Attached to that last message he got a few hours back was a pic of Armie balls-deep inside Tim who stared at the camera, wide-eyed, dazed. Tim didn’t even remember when it had been taken…

He threw his phone across the room after just getting a glimpse, biting the inside of his cheek as not to cry. God, he’d been so, so stupid.

The poison worked slowly. He wondered if one day Stéphane would do the same? Maybe he’d already sold their texts to Paris Match and they only waited for after the Oscars to run with it? Something like ‘I dated an Oscar nominee’ – outing him to all the world.

Would he mind? Tim had never really thought about coming out – besides, just a few month ago no one would have given a flying fuck where he put his dick. No one had known him. He was also sure that his family would support him no matter what. He had come to terms with his attraction to both boys and girls. So it’s never been an acute question… Would it really matter if his bisexuality or whatever the label was came out?

But then he remembered his adolescence, the mockery, being ostracized, his efforts to fit in, to be accepted… For all he knew, yes, queer actors got roles, were even popular in certain segments – but they never made leading men when they were out. Brian did struggle to market him as it was – strange foreign name, too thin, too androgynous, to anxious. Tim was sure his agent didn’t need a deviant sexuality to his CV to make his task more complicated. Especially now as things started to move in the right direction for him. An outing could easily destroy the delicate blossoming of Tim's career.

That’s why he got more and more evasive when Stéphane asked to meet again. When would Tim be back in London? Or maybe Stéphane could come to New York or LA?

Why was he so eager suddenly, anyway? Did he want to set them up to get papped?

After a few weeks Tim stopped returning his calls altogether.

_‘Hey, u busy?’ – ‘I called earlier, left a message. Call me back when u have time.’ – ‘I see u r out and about. Take care. Drink water. Eat something.’ – ‘Tu me manques.’ – ‘Ai-je fait quelque chose?’_

Tim stared down at his phone for about half an hour, then blocked Stéphane’s number. Fool me twice, bitch! He wouldn’t step in the same river for a third time.

By now, Armie seemed more and more stressed, often failing to keep it professional during events and interviews, not abiding to the agreed rules or outright looking bored. In addition he sported new lines around his eyes and new weight on his hips.

“Liz’s cookies.” He grinned, but his eyes looked dull, foggy. At least he'd stopped wearing track suits.

As they attended a few parties together in the wake of the Oscars it became apparent that Armie drank even more than usual. Liz watched him like a hawk, shooting Tim exasperated looks as if he could do something to stop Armie getting shitfaced.

When he half-heartedly tried Armie just gave him a dirty look and continued ordering Vodka on the rocks. Another time he outright shoved Tim away as he asked him quietly not to open another bottle of Champagne, storming off as Evelyn attempted to talk some sense into him.

Tim interacted as little with Armie as possible, keeping close to Brian, his mum or sister during official events – these were the only people he still trusted.

His mum often just shook her head but kept silent, only frowning at Liz and Armie when they acted especially obnoxious.

Pauline wasn't as discreet, which one time ended with her and Liz shouting at each other, Liz calling Pauline untalented and Pauline retorting that at least she was making her way on her own, without the help of a rich, famous family. Brian and Evelyn had to intervene, otherwise Tim was sure there would have been blood.

He kind of enjoyed the confrontation, and as a compensation took Pauline on a shopping spree the next day, buying her and himself the same Alexander McQueen hoodie.

On the way to another pre-Oscar lunch his sister asked him why he’d cut ties with Stéphane.

“He called me a few days ago. Asked about you. How you were holding up. He sounded a little worried. And sad. I thought you liked him. But now you’ve blocked him?”

“It’s complicated.” Tim stared out the window of the black saloon car driving them through Hollywood.

“Did something happen?” Pauline nudged his shoulder.

“Just leave it, okay.” Tim sighed, aware that he sounded jaded, blasé.

Pauline shoved him harder. “Timmy, are you getting ahead of yourself? You suddenly think you’re better than your old friends? Is this the Hammer influence? That douche and his narcissistic twiggy-“

“Pauline, please! Leave it!” He hated himself for shouting at his sister. He also hated himself for creating the impression that he was developing airs and graces. On the contrary! But he couldn’t tell her that. So they both fell into a mopey silence until they reached the designated hotel to rub shoulders with fellow nominees.

That evening, Tim succumbed to the temptation of the minibar at the Sunset Tower Hotel, sitting on his balcony and smoking some weed as he gazed over LA, emptying little bottles of colorful liquor. Despite the lovely, warm weather and all the luxury surrounding him he wanted to go home to New York, hole up in his room and don’t talk to anybody for the foreseeable future.

He ended that evening hunched over the toilet, throwing up, before staggering into bed, not even taking off his clothes.

Lying there heaving and sweating he felt so alone he seriously contemplated just throwing himself over the railing of his penthouse terrace. Only the thought of his family residing a few floors down prevented him from going through with it.

The Thursday before the Independent Spirit Awards Armie finally broke down. He called Tim in the afternoon, sounding already drunk, his speech slurred. Tim was just leaving the last fitting for his Oscar suit – a white smoking in which he felt like a cheat – and was tempted not to answer but didn’t want to risk it in the end.

Just a few more days and this would be over. He had to pull through without the Hammers losing their shit, ruining everything in their thrive for fame and attention.

“Yep.” He was walking through Beverly Hills, passing some vegan ice cream parlor. It suddenly vaguely reminded him of Crema.

“Timmy… Tim… I … need you.” Armie stuttered, voice deep.

“What for?” He tried to keep the disdain out of his tone.

“You know what for.” Armie almost whined. “I promise, Liz is gone… some beauty treatment… we’ll be alone. Just you ‘n me…”

“Armie… can you please not do this.” Tim stopped walking, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“But I miss you… C’me on, one last time… Those last weeks have been… sh-shit. Pure shit. A huge pile of-“

“I think I got it, Armie.” Tim looked around. The street was busy, no one was listening. He started walking again. “But I can’t. I have meetings. With Brian. And Denis.”

“Oh… now that you’re famous you’re ditching me…”

“What are you even talking about? You think I’m at your beg and call?” Tim was getting angry. Armie was in one of his moods but Tim had no intention to indulge him. He just couldn't take it anymore.

“Watch it, boy! It only takes me to put one pic… one pic up on IG… you know what pics, right? Those where you’re… you’re naked and… kinda spaced out… and we made love...” He trailed off. Was that a sob Tim heard?

“Armie, just stop this shit.” Tim almost felt sorry for him. “You’re way too drunk to get it up anyway. What is this even? You really want the world to see what happened between us, how you treated me?”

“I treated you _fine_!” Now Armie was getting agitated, yelling down the line. Tim knew he should maybe calm him down but he couldn’t bring himself to do so and just stayed quiet. “I loved you, Timmy! Truly lo-oved you… Please... I just need someone...” Now it really sounded like Armie was crying.

‘You’re incapable of loving anyone but yourself’, Tim thought and bit his lips not to say it. He counted backwards from ten, then sighed: “Listen, Armie… I’m sorry. But I can’t. I see you on Saturday, then we can talk-“

“I don't... don't wanna talk! If you’re not coming over... I... I make sure you’ll regret it!” Armie spat, and before Tim could answer ended the call.

Tim felt hot and cold all over at the same time, his hands shaking as he put his phone away. Would Armie really go through with his threats? He was reckless, drunk and lacked impulse control – but he wasn’t crazy. Or was he?

Tim suddenly knew what he had to do. It was finally time to come clean to Brian. That’s what he got paid for, wasn’t it? Solve problems. And Armie had become Tim's biggest problem.

He didn't lie to Armie, he really had a meeting with Brian.

But how to tell your agent that you were blackmailed with sex pics by your colleague – and that it was your fault?

At Brian's office, Tim fidgeted in his chair, nervously playing with his water bottle, giving vacant monosyllabic answers until Brian had enough.

“What is it, Timothée?”

That was his cue. He swallowed, wiping his sweaty hands on his trouser legs.

“I... uhm... there might be an... issue, Brian.”

“What kind of issue? The 'I've overdrawn my credit card' issue or the 'I got a groupie pregnant while on drugs' issue?”

Tim took a deep breath. “The 'I slept with my co-star on a movie' kind of issue.” He felt his face burn but forced himself to hold Brian's gaze.

“What? You slept with Saoirse? Or Selena?” Brian looked surprised but not outright shocked.

Tim almost giggled. This was too absurd. “Nooo... I slept with Armie.”

The silence lasted for almost a minute until Brian stated. “No, you didn't. Not in Italy. I'm sure of that.”

“No, not in Italy. Later.”

Brian sank down onto his leather desk chair. “This is not a joke, right?” He clasped his hands on the table top, craning his neck as he stared at Tim, poleaxed.

“Not a joke, nope.”

Another few seconds ticked by. “Okay... but that's not all there is to it, right?” Brian looked pale.

“No.” Tim shook his head. Okay, here we go, he thought. “Now he's trying to... take advantage... of our connection.”

“That means he's... what? Blackmailing you?” 

Tim nodded and took a sip of water from his bottle to wet his dry mouth.

“With what?”

Now it was Tim's turn to stare down at the desk, his index finger drawing intricate patterns on the polished oak. “There are certain... photographs. Of me and him... and his wife.”

“Jesus fuck me!” Brian seldom swore but now he pushed his chair back and got up, pacing his office. “So... you three... got up to some fun?” He was almost shouting. Tim started to get really fed up with people yelling at him.

“It wasn't... I didn't want to but-”

“But what, Tim? Did they tie you up and force your dick hard?” A vein was throbbing on Brian's high forehead.

“Something like that.” Tim whispered.

The air in the room suddenly grew tense and thick. Brian walked over to him, knelt down next to his chair. “Seriously?”

Tim could only nod, swallowing hard past the lump in his throat.

“So it wasn't consensual?”

“It kinda was... up to a point... but then...” He had no idea how to explain it.

“Okay.” Brian started to gently rub his upper arm. “And now he's what? Threatening you?”

“They mostly want to participate in what they call my rise to fame. But this morning Armie kinda... propositioned me. And said if I wouldn't... comply he would... release some pictures... fuck. I don't know what to do.” He felt tears burn in his eyes and wiped them with the back of his hand.

“Leave that to me.” Brian sounded stern but gently padded his shoulder as he got up and took his phone out. “Thank you for telling me. You better leave now. This might get ugly. But don't worry. I'll fix it.” He smiled reassuringly at Tim before turning away to make a call. Tim stood up on slightly shaky legs and almost fled the premises, getting a huge sweet caramel latte from Starbucks before calling an Uber to get back to his hotel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's just not easy for Tim to trust...


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just before the Oscars Armie does something stupid.

The next evening Tim had an encounter with his confused and shocked publicist Nicole almost kicking down his hotel room door, knocking so hard she stumbled in when he opened.

“Have you heard?” She gasped.

“What? Did Gary Oldman die?”

“This is not funny, Tim!” She shook her head, then grinned. “Sadly, no. But...” Her face fell.

“What?” He sat down on the bed next to where his white tuxedo was already laid out for Sunday.

“Evelyn just called. Liz rang her. Apparently, there's been an... accident.”

“Nothing with the kids, is it?” Tim's heart clenched.

“No... but... with Armie... he's been taking medication and... he's at the hospital right now, getting his stomach pumped. He's unconscious. She found him in the pool.”

Tim felt... nothing. “Okay.”

“Liz was... hysterical. That's how Evelyn described it. She seems to blame you.”

“Me? But I wasn't... I haven't seen him since... what... last Sunday when we spoke with CNN? How is this my fault?” Yet his heartbeat sped up, remembering their last phone call. And what he’d done afterwards… he’d talked to Brian. 

“As I said, she was hysterical. In shock.” Nicole's eyes narrowed. “I'm pretty sure there was also some booze involved, knowing Armie.”

An icy shudder ran down Tim's spine. Sure, it could have been a series of unfortunate events – or it could have been something much worse. Did Armie try to top himself? Even he wasn't stupid enough to mix pills with alcohol, then get into the pool. Or was he?

What did Tim really know about him?

Nicole seemed to sense his unease. “Don't worry too much. Brian's on it. But it's out of the question that Armie will make it to the Independent Spirit Awards tomorrow. Do you have a friend to accompany you? Maybe that nice French fella?”

“Who?” Tim needed a moment to connect the dots. “No, that's not... possible. But another friend of mine is in LA. Nick. I can ask him.”

“Do that. I don't think it's a good idea to go alone. And with Armie... I know you're close. It'll be alright, you hear me? The hospitals here are equipped for things like this. And Liz will calm down. She always does.”

After Nicole had left, it only took about ten minutes for the texts to start.

_'You stupid fucking asshole.'_

_'That's your doing.'_

_'Brian called last night. Armie was upset afterwards.'_

_'Really upset.'_

_'I thought we had an agreement.'_

_'Don't think I'll let this pass, you little fucker.'_

_'Imagine what happens if those pics drop just before the Oscars.'_

It was then that Tim decided to respond.

**'How's Armie? Is he okay? I don't even know what happened.'**

His finger hovered over the screen of his phone. But there was really no reason to deny it.

**'Yes. I told Brian. About the three of us.'**

Liz answered immediately.

_'Are you proud of yourself?'_

Tim was so tired of this shit. He didn't even want to hurt Liz anymore. He just wanted this to be over, for her to understand that he was finished with them.

**'Do you know that Armie called me yesterday? He was a mess. He begged me to come over but I said no.'**

_'See, this is your fault. Couldn't you drag your bony little ass over and give him what he needs? Don’t forget, you’re our little fuckboy slut and I make sure it stays that way. You never get rid of us.'_

Tim stared at his phone. Briefly closed his eyes. Opened them again. The words were still there, staring back at him.

**'Liz, leave it. Your husband needs you.'**

_'Don't talk to me like that!'_

_'What's Brian gonna do, Timmy?'_

_'He can't safe you. You brought this upon yourself.'_

And, after a short pause:

_'Don't forget to talk about Armie tomorrow. I make sure he shows up on Sunday.'_

Tim sighed, putting his phone away. That woman was a mystery to him. And not a good one.

But for now, things had been taken out of his hands. Armie was in hospital. Liz was busy with him. Brian was on it, had apparently spoken to Armie. Judging by the apparent aftermath of that talk he'd gotten through to him.

And yet... what a mess.

He was tempted to text Stéphane but suppressed the urge. What good could come from it?

He could also talk to Pauline just a few floors down but he really didn't want to upset her. True, she hated the Hammers, but Armie in hospital would make her worry nonetheless. He had to stop to burden his sister with his emotional ballast. He was 22, an adult. Time to deal with stuff like this on his own.

Instead, he called his pal Nick.

The next evening was actual fun. The ISA's were a very relaxed affair with drinks and casual wear, speeches that made you laugh and interesting people attending. Tim had a good time on the red carpet, meeting fans and colleagues until his phone chimed with a familiar number.

_'He's ready to FaceTime. That's the least you can do after robbing him of this evening.'_

So Tim switched to video call where he was met with a naked Armie, face puffy and reddened, dark shadows under his eyes, in bed with tea and chicken broth. He looked thoroughly miserable and Tim felt almost sorry for him until he started speaking.

“This will have consequences, Tim. Couldn't keep your fucking mouth shut, uh?” His voice sounded hoarse but his eyes gleamed dark and vicious even on the small screen.

“Says the man who disclosed my secret to his wife. You swore on your kid's life, Hammer.”

“Still not over that, buddy? Do you have any idea where I would be without Liz? She's the most amazing, intelligent woman-”

“I have to go, Armie, sorry, the ceremony starts.” Tim switched off the microphone until he was seated at their table. Brian shot him a look and Tim waved his phone in the direction of his agent, a tiny Armie visible on the screen. It provoked another furious phone call, presumably to Evelyn.

Still, Armie displayed on Tim's phone got them a laugh. The internet was full of heart-eye emojis and little peaches, celebrating the sweet gesture.

If they only knew, Tim thought not for the first time.

Did he maybe want the world to see what the Hammers had done to him, what went on behind that perfect facade?

Sitting at the table, watching other people receive their awards, made Tim suddenly think how it would be to lose all of this. To be dropped again into obscurity, people only remembering him because he first fucked a peach and then his co-star and his co-star's wife. Could he go back there after he'd had all of this?

The anxiety spread through his veins like poison. Was Liz truly out for revenge? Maybe she had already dropped her bomb? Were people starting to look at him in a weird way, murmuring behind his back, laughing...?

During a break, he fled the auditorium and locked himself in the gents, concentrating on his breathing – in through the nose, count to five, out through the mouth - until Nick knocked onto the door of his stall.

“You okay, Timmy?”

“Yeah, I think I just had too much to drink.”

“You just had water.”

Silence.

“Is it about Armie? You can talk to me...”

Panic gripped his heart, squeezing it. What did Nick know? Did Brian talk to him? Did he send him down here to warn Tim that his secret was out?

“I know you're probably disappointed he couldn't make it, even worried... but he looked okay to me. I'm sure he'll be fine tomorrow...” Nick rambled on.

Oh, Nick... even he had fallen for their charade.

In through the nose, count to five, out through the mouth...

“Yeah, you're right, of course. I'm overreacting, as usual.” Tim's hand shook when he unlocked the door. “Let's go back, okay.”

Tim didn't attend any of the awards after parties, claiming he wanted to stay fresh for the Oscars. Yet he tossed and turned in bed that night while fear and stress prevented him from finding peace. His whole body hurt when he eventually dozed off in the small hours, dreaming of a childhood summer spent in France, playing football. There had been that beautiful boy whose parents were from Cote d'Ivoire. Tim had had a major crush on him when he'd been fourteen. Unrequited, of course, though there had been glances, the two of them staying behind in the showers, talking on their way home, pushing their bikes close to each other...

Innocent times.

When Tim woke up he searched his brain but couldn't even remember the boy’s name. He wondered what had become of him? They'd both dreamt to play for PSG one day... he sincerely hoped he was fine, doing something he loved.

Luckily, the day was filled with meeting sponsors, Sony officials, and photoshoots until it was time to get ready for the evening.

Tim was aware how he looked in his suit. Though it felt false, wearing this angelic, innocent white. He was neither... and probably the world would learn that very soon. Then everything would crumble to dust, leaving him at square one again. No, even worse, because everyone would know. The internet never forgot...

Why did he had to confess everything to Brian – this short before it would all be over? He knew Armie was a loose cannon these days so what had gotten into him to refuse, to push, to bring matters to a head just now? Why couldn't he keep his mouth shut? Why did he have to risk everything? What for?

Maybe he really was a stupid little child and Liz had outsmarted him? Maybe he only got what he deserved for being naive and trusting? This was Hollywood, after all. Did he really think he was untouchable, different, that he would be spared?

Everyone had a prize to pay for fame and fortune – nothing came without strings attached. Maybe the Hammers were his ball and chain for the rest of his life?

He grabbed his mother's hand tighter as they walked down the red carpet among screaming fans and flashlights.

Then he saw them.

Armie wore dark red velvet and that somehow seemed fitting – like the devil. His face was still ashen, though. Liz's smile looked forced and tense.

To Tim's dismay, the photographers wanted a pic of them together.

He decidedly looked the other way as Armie fixed him with a hard stare. Was that Saoirse over there?

“Armie! Tim! Just the two of you! Come on! Give us something, guys! Think of peaches!”

With the female bulwark between them suddenly gone, Tim felt exposed to the whole world, afraid everyone would see, discover his secrets, that it had all been a sham... that he wasn't this pretty little thing but rotten to the core, corrupted like everyone else here, tainted, soiled...

“Get a grip.” Armie whispered, pulling him close.

“Easier said than done.” Tim hissed back through gritted teeth, his cheeks aching from forcing a smile on his face.

“Timmy...” Armie pitched his voice even lower.

He turned in Armie's grip and they stared at each other for a moment while lighting erupted around them. All noise faded away. They were in Italy again, had just met, talked over an espresso and gelato…

Armie's blue eyes were sad and pained and he almost looked like Oliver at the train station before leaving Elio, not to meet him again for twenty years.

Tim swallowed. Armie's bottom lip quivered. Was he feeling it as well?

“Tim...” He mouthed, suddenly pushing him away, destroying whatever bubble they'd just been in. “Go. Shine, shine, shine.”

And Tim hesitated just a second before stepping backwards, taking a deep breath to face the wall of cameras aimed at him alone, for the first time this evening sincerely smiling.

To his own surprise he felt happy.

Whatever came after tonight – right now, he was on top of the world. And not even Armie fucking Hammer would ruin that for him.


	15. Changes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Mmm, baby, I don't understand this_   
>  _You're changing, I can't stand it_   
>  _My heart can't take this damage_   
>  _And the way I feel, can't stand it_   
>  **David Bowie**
> 
> Tim is forced to go to Austin.

Two days later they all met again in a stuffy conference room at a discreet LA hotel: Liz, Armie, Tim, Brian, Evelyn.

“Okay, nothing that's said here will leave these four walls, are we clear on this?” Brian began.

Everyone nodded. Tim played with his water bottle, rolling it between his palms. He hadn't even looked over at Armie and Liz.

Apparently, Armie's wife was fiddling with her phone until Brian told her to put it down.

“Thank you. I've become aware of certain... tensions between the three of you. I'm not going into detail here but as Sony is still planning an Asian promo tour-”

Armie groaned. Tim swallowed hard. Liz raised her left eyebrow.

“-it seems adamant to keep up appearance even after the Oscars. I believe both Tim and Armie are in serious talks for new projects. No one needs a scandal.”

“Hear, hear.” Liz slowly clapped, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Do you beg to differ, Miss Chambers?” Brian turned towards her, fixing her with an icy stare.

Liz seemed unfazed. “Your little pansy boy over there should have kept his mouth shut if he wants to avoid gossip.”

“Liz.” Evelyn stage-whispered.

Tim blushed, twisting in his chair.

“But it's the truth, isn't it? Or even better, he should've kept it in his pants. But you really wanted it, didn't you, Timothy? You were so horny, both for my husband and for fame, that you-”

“I think that's enough, Miss Chambers.” Brian interrupted.

“Why? Are you fucking him as well? He seems to be every old queen's dream so I wonder-”

Tim pushed his chair back and made for the door. He couldn't listen to her one moment longer.

“I'll wait outside if you don't mind.” Maybe Brian or Evelyn said something but he didn't listen, he just strode out of the room and down a beige carpeted corridor until he reached a little garden full of puny palm trees.

He was furiously sucking his vape-pen until Brian appeared about fifteen minutes later.

“We've reached an agreement. You won't like it.”

“Great.” Tim tried to smile but his muscles didn't cooperate.

“Armie gets an award at the end of the month in Austin. It's a smallish thing but they want you to present it, give a speech. That might draw attention to the thing. Oscar nominee that you are.”

Tim felt sick but still nodded. “And after that?”

“Ongoing commitment to the sequel. We have to see how next awards season plays out with both your upcoming projects.”

“And if I play along...?”

“Then tape and pics are safe with them.” Brian sounded doubtful.

“You don't believe them?”

Brian sighed and sat down next to Tim on a hard wooden bench, his shoulders slumping. “You're aware what happened after I talked to Armie. He has no impulse control and his wife is neurotic and an attention seeking liar. I trust them as far as I can throw them. Best we can do is to appease them. That doesn't mean we don't have to develop our own strategies should shit hit the metaphorical fan.”

“Meaning?”

“You should seriously consider getting a girlfriend, Tim. Otherwise, I think it's best to lie low. I'll have you shipped over to Europe as soon as possible, out of their reach. Work is always the best medicine.” 

Tim cleared his throat, watching a little black beetle crawl underneath one of the concrete flower pots. “Are you mad at me?” He asked, drawing patterns in the dust with the tip of his sneaker.

Brian snorted a dry laugh. “Let me phrase it this way. Most young actors make mistakes. And it's my job to straighten them out. The mistakes, not the actors. Your working life is for the public but your private life is for yourself. Try to keep it that way. I hope you've learned your lesson.”

“Yeah.” Tim huffed.

Brian clasped his shoulder. “Okay, let's get you back home to New York then. What will you do there?”

“I need some peace and quiet. I think I'll stay with my parents for a few weeks.”

“Good, very good. I'll send you the details for Austin. Prepare a nice little speech, then you're off the hook for a while.”

“Thanks, Brian.” Tim was near tearing up. To safe face, he put on his sunglasses, then followed Brian out to a waiting Uber.

Back in New York, Tim quickly realized that moving in back home maybe hadn't been as smart as he'd thought. Because his parents weren't idiots. They obviously began to worry.

Because he moped. Didn't eat much. Didn't go out or met friends. Switched his phone off for hours and just sat in his old room, listening to music, staring out the window...

He saw it in the lingering looks his parents exchanged; their whispered conversations that ended abruptly when he walked into the room. He only waited for the moment his mum or dad would make a move, their eyes full of concern...

It took them ten days and it was his mum.

“Timothée, can we talk a moment, please?” She hesitantly lingered by the door of his room, only coming in when he pulled his headphones off and nodded, sitting down next to him on the floor opposite his small single bed.

He waited, his fingers drumming the pages of the script he'd been reading (a period piece Greta was planning to shoot in the autumn). He'd folded over the corners of the pages with his character speaking. Usually his mum would admonish him for it and that she didn't told Tim all he needed to know about the upcoming conversation.

“Are you okay?” She began, voice soft.

“Yes, mum.”

She ruffled his hair but looked unconvinced.

“There used to be a time when you talked to me...”

“Mum, please, don't. I'm not a child anymore.” He was aware that he sounded more tired than exasperated.

She looked around his room, the walls still plastered with 50 Cent posters and ads for GTA IV.

“I love you. You'll always be my little boy... in a way. And I want you to be happy. Are you happy, Timothée?”

He had to pinch his thigh hard to get Liz's voice out of his head. This was his real mum, for god's sake! “What kind of question is that?” He realized he was becoming more and more defensive but he couldn't help it.

“You just remind me of the time four years ago... you know, the last time you moved back home? You were... really out of it. Almost depressed. Then you went back to university.”

“Don't worry, that won't happen again.” He tried to joke but his mum wasn't laughing, her eyes fixed on him, serious.

“Is it drugs, Tim?” She asked quietly but had gone pale.

He shook his head, “Mum, no, of course not. I'm not an idiot.” At least not in that department...

“Promise it's not drugs.”

“I promise it's not drugs.” Thank god he didn't have to lie to her. He wasn't sure he could.

She leaned over and hugged him, fiercely.

“You know you can talk to us. We won't judge you. I know your life is crazy and some things are really hard to figure out. But, please, we love you, and we're proud of you, and nothing can change that, okay?”

He could just nod, yet once more close to tears.

When she'd left he got out some writing paper and started to tackle a laudatory speech dedicated to Armand Douglas Hammer.

A week later he arrived in Austin. Armie was already there, surrounded by his family, even his mother and father. There would be the awards ceremony in the evening, with a formal dinner before and a party afterwards. Tim was supposed to attend it all.

He didn't bother dressing up, just wore a checkered, not very flattering shirt for the whole day. Sometimes it were the little things that made a difference. This was his form of defiance.

Armie and Liz milked him for what it was worth, making him walk the red carpet even though he was just a guest, taking pictures with him everywhere. During the dinner he was seated next to Armie, with Liz far enough out of the frame but watching them like a vulture.

Tim barely touched his food. Armie emptied two bottles of white wine.

“Keep smiling. Lean closer.” He whispered, touching Tim's knee below the table. He almost dropped his glass of water.

He even was forced to hug Armie's mother. She reminded him of Liz. It gave him the creeps.

Eventually, it was time for the awards ceremony. When Tim went on stage his mouth was dry as the auditorium fell silent, all eyes on him.

It was a disaster. He stumbled through his thoughtfully crafted speech, choking on his words of praise, embarrassing himself to the bone. It seemed like he was unable to even form one simple English sentence.

“This man... the man this man is...” He stuttered, mentally kicking himself. Do you want to know who this man really is? What he did to me? That he beat me, slapped me, spat me in the face, forced his cock up my ass? What would his Christian mother say if she knew how her precious eldest son had fucked him, made him lick and blow him... even coerced him into satisfying his wedded wife? Maybe that would make her botoxed face finally move...

But of course he didn't say anything like this. Instead, he rambled on and on, giving the audience the usual soundbites of 'brother, mentor, friend, great actor, role model', established islands in a see of meaningless drivel. When eventually the teleprompter requested him to end and leave, he almost fled the stage – to his surprise accompanied by boisterous applause.

Apparently, his gibberish was seen as the sweetest love confession ever.

It was so ridiculous it made him genuinely laugh for the first time that evening.

Liz insisted on more pics during the after-party, getting him one G&T after the other which he all emptied into the various plant pots decorating the venue when she was distracted by her phone or someone she thought famous enough to throw herself at.

Thank god another guest of honor was Paul Thomas Anderson, and in his peril Tim overcame his anxiety and started to chat to him, confessing his admiration for his latest film. He turned out to be a very nice and gracious man. Maybe he was also bored by the party. Whatever it was, he kindly adopted Tim for the rest of the evening, even telling him that he'd loved his performance in Call Me By Your Name.

By now, every time the film was brought up Tim started to feel a little sick. But he smiled and nodded and expressed his gratitude. There's always someone more talented so try to be the most polite.

“You really speak French?” Anderson asked at some point and when Tim nodded, inquired for his agent's contacts.

Maybe that evening wasn't a total failure after all...

But apparently, he didn't reckon with Armie. On his way to the bathroom he was suddenly snatched away into a dark corner by a familiar large hand.

“Having fun, dear?”

“Apparently, yes.” Tim tried to stay calm. Don't show him that you're nervous.

But that was easier said than done as Armie's broad body bracketed him against the wall.

“I have a pro-... a proposition.”

Armie was clearly drunk, but not wasted yet. This was usually the state when he came up with his worst ideas.

“For you.” His index finger dug into Tim's chest. “What an ugly shirt.”

“It might match your thoughts.”

“Careful, here.” Armie's breath smelled of Bourbon and cigars. Tim suddenly wished he'd downed some of the drinks Liz had offered him.

“What do you want?” Tim tried not to sound too annoyed. Or afraid.

“A blow job. Right now. Down in the gents.”

“Armie-”

“You suck me off, I call off the Asian promo tour.”

Tim blinked.

“You mean...?”

“One last favor and we're done.”

Tim wavered. Could he trust him? Was it worth the risk to finally get rid of him? But then he remembered what a manipulative asshole Armie was.

“Listen... you call off the promo tour tomorrow. Then we'll meet for one last night. Just us. No Liz. Agreed?” Tim forced himself to hold Armie's gaze, even to smile a little seductively. He was quite aware that he was bluffing. He had no leverage whatsoever to make Armie agree but he hoped his horniness would get the better of him. That and the booze should help Tim. He put on a sweet, innocent smile he knew Armie liked to wipe off his face and waited.

“Agreed.”

Tim was only prevented from sinking to his knees and thank a god he didn't believe in by Armie smashing him against the wall, kissing him hard in the dark corner hidden from view. Not to push his luck, Tim let him, opening his mouth while closing his eyes, allowing Armie to take him.

One last time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, believe me, Tim has plan. This is the closest he comes to revenge himself.


	16. Revenge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim decides to fight back and feed Armie his own medicine to finally get rid of the Hammers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Well, in the beginning we felt like we was meant to be_  
>  _I fell for you and skinned my knee, but hell with any injury_  
>  _Eventually you'll get up gingerly_  
>  _It feels like it'll take a century to heal, but just know that I will_  
>  _But fuck trying to make amends_  
>  _I'd rather take revenge_  
>  Pink

Armie kept his word. To the shock both of Sony and many fans from Asia he canceled the promo tour planned for April due to ‘work commitments’.

Tim watched from the back of the room, his arms crossed over his chest.

Armie had delivered. Now it was time for him to do the same... he had things to prepare for tonight.

After escaping Armie and the party last night, he’d gone off on an internet search. He’d had a vague idea of what he needed to do, and the web didn’t disappoint in educating him how it could be done.

He expected that Armie would want to come to his room, regarding that he was sharing a suite with his wife. That was to Tim's advantage. Home turf.

Now he had to do some shopping. Another quick Google search gave him the address of some shops in downtown Austin that sold what he was looking for.

On his way there he texted Armie, inviting him to come over at ten.

The shop assistant at the first store was very helpful, advised Tim what he should choose and patiently explained the application. At his second stop, a sex shop, Tim new exactly what he wanted. Only his final purchase turned out harder to come by, but luckily, prompted by Tim's discreet enquiries, the guy manning the counter at the sex shop put him in contact with a supplier (after Tim had offered him a generous tip).

After reading the instruction manual twice, setting everything up and testing it Tim still had two hours to spare. He tried to distract himself as best he could, but neither Dune, which he was reading in preparation for a new role, nor Netflix was working. In the end, he ran himself a bath and had a drink from the mini-bar to calm down.

Five past ten there was a knock on his door.

Tim opened, wearing just an unbuttoned dress shirt and tight gray boxer briefs.

“Wow.” Armie breathed. He seemed surprisingly sober.

“Well, I know what you like, don't I?” Tim turned and walked over to the bed, sitting down. Armie stepped in and closed the door silently behind himself.

“So, how do you want me?” Tim swallowed, casting down his eyes. He really knew what Armie liked.

“Not so fast. Relax. Let’s have a drink.”

Tim nodded. Armie went over to the mini-bar, searching its content.

“I take the scotch. What about you?”

“I think there's some champagne? I’ll have that.”

Armie emptied a mini-flask of scotch into a tumbler, then uncorked the champagne and poured Tim a glass.

“Cheers.”

They clinked glasses. Tim took a large gulp, quite aware that Armie stared at him hungrily.

“It's been a while.” He said, sitting heavily down next to Tim who once again realized with a small shock just how big and strong Armie was compared to him. Shit!

“Yes.” He agreed. What else was there to say?

“Do you sometimes... think about the things we did?” Armie sounded almost wistful.

“Oh yes.” Tim blushed. “I remember you choking me.”

“You liked that.”

Tim shuddered. “You liked it more.”

“Would you let me do it again?” Armie's hand came up to Tim's neck, his thumb stroking his Adam's apple.

“How would you do it.” Tim was looking right into his eyes.

“I thought about using my belt.”

Tim bit his lower lip, took another sip of champagne, lowered his voice a little. “You want me to kneel?”

“Yes, baby.”

Tim sank down onto the floor while Armie removed his brown leather belt to fasten it around Tim's throat. Their eyes locked as Armie pulled the belt tight.

It took about twenty seconds for Tim to experience the familiar sensation of being unable to breathe. The belt didn't give. He tried to swallow but it was impossible. His face grew hot as his mouth felt open and he gasped.

Armie kept staring at him, tightening the belt even more. Tim's hands became numb but he raised them anyway in a somewhat pleading gesture...

When Armie eventually released him, he toppled over, coughing, spluttering, his fingers massaging his throat. “Drink.” He croaked

Armie poured him more champagne and apparently decided to have a glass himself.

The belt was still hanging from around Tim's neck as he took a sip, coughing some more, spitting Champagne all over himself and Armie.

“Sorry... sorry, the bubbles.” Tim croaked.

Armie turned, searching for a cocktail napkin to wipe down his shirt front and Tim's chin covered in saliva.

That was all the time Tim needed, reaching for the little bottle he’d stored under the bed.

When the worst damage was cleaned up, Armie drained his own Champagne flute in one go and sat back into an armchair by the window.

“Come here. Crawl.” Tim got on all fours, Armie's belt trailing like a leash behind him as he slowly made his way over, ending up between Armie’s spread thighs.

His huge right hand pushed into Tim's curls, pulling his head back, straining the tendons in his neck, before he leaned down, his breath already a little shaky.

“Open your fucking mouth.”

Tim did.

Armie aimed for it and spat inside it.

“Swa-swallow.”

Tim held his gaze as he obeyed, a blush creeping up his face. It tasted slimy, of alcohol and tobacco. Armie watched him, his eyelids starting to droop.

Was the stuff even working? Tim had no idea what to look for...

Meanwhile, Armie had reached between his own legs with his free hand, palming himself.

“Good. You’re always… so good, Timmy. You... you want my cock, you… needy slut.”

Tim had his eyes cast down as best he could, giving Armie the kind of innocent defiance he couldn’t resist.

“I asked you some-something.” Armie's speech was beginning to slur. That must be a good sign.

“You okay?” Tim whispered, looking up. Armie’s face was flushed red but that could be attributed to arousal.

“Just... just open my fu-ucking fly.” Armie's hands were trembling, his fine motor activities apparently gone.

Tim leaned up but waited, his fingers hovering over Armie's crotch. “Or what?” He asked, cocking his head. “You'll beat me? You'll punch me?”

“Yeahhh...” Armie droned while his eyes had visibly difficulty to focus. “The fuck...?” Was the last thing he said, almost wondering, before his head fell back and he lost consciousness, his hand sliding from Tim’s hair as his muscles relaxed and he involuntarily lost his grip.

Tim waited, counting to one hundred. As Armie didn't move apart from his chest rising and falling, showing that he still breathed, Tim slowly got up and walked backwards in the direction of the bathroom, not daring to take his eyes off the slumped down body in the armchair, 6'5 of roofied man.

Tim reached for his phone and deactivated the app controlling the hidden camera. Then he took the small vial from under the bed and every bottle he found in the mini-bar.

In the safety of the bathroom, Tim first locked the door before he poured what was left of the drug and all the liquor down the drain. After taking a deep breath he once again pulled Armie's belt tight around his throat, long enough to nearly faint. When he removed it there was a visible red mark on his skin.

Good.

But he needed more. For leverage.

He stepped into the shower, closed his eyes and smashed his face forcefully against the tiles.

After the third time he felt warm blood trickle down his face and decided it was enough. Looking in the mirror revealed a small cut near his hairline that bled profusely, as well as a swelling to his forehead and left eyebrow. 

He went back into his room, arranged the empty bottles on the nightstand before he got the toys he'd bought – a huge dildo, a paddle, nipple clamps – and threw them on the bed. Finally he walked over to Armie, still conked out in the armchair. 

When he bend down over him his blood dripped on Armie’s shirt. That gave him another idea: he took off his pants and wiped his face with them, dropping them on the floor. 

Tim hesitated only a moment before he carefully pulled Armie's zipper down and took out his cock. It was weird, touching the limp flesh. Armie's flaccid dick looked almost endearingly vulnerable…

With everything prepared the way he needed it, Tim got into bed, wrapped the sheets around himself and stared at Armie, waiting...

He had no idea how long Armie would be out. He just hoped he hadn't given him too much. He really didn't want to end his trip to Texas with a body in his hotel room.

It took nearly two hours until Armi started to come around. When he began to twitch and blink, Tim got up, walked over and gently guided a still dazed Armie to the bed.

“Hey, you with me?” He asked but it was no use. Armie went out like a light for another hour.

Looking down at him it occurred to Tim that the scenario would be more convincing if Armie was naked. So he used the time to almost fully undress him as best he could, leaving only his blood-stained shirt on – and he also removed the storage card from the miniature camera he'd glued to the top of the wardrobe, quickly loading the video onto his phone.

When Armie eventually woke, Tim was lying rolled up beside him. He heard him gasp.

“Jesus fuck...”

Tim's head hurt by now. He had a bluish bump on his forehead and dried blood on his face when he turned and blinked up at Armie, trying to look scared. He was an actor after all.

“God, I feel sick.” Armie groaned rubbing his face, taking in the assorted bottles next to the bed. “Did I drink all this? Ugh, never mix Champagne with Scotch... shit, Tim, you look like a car crash.” Armie was frowning at him.

“Well... you didn't stop.” Tim whispered, making his voice hoarse as if he had cried.

Armie just stared, then reached for him - and Tim flinched. Armie's large hand hung suspended in mid-air. “I can't remember doing that...”

Tim scooted back, grabbed his phone. “You were pretty out of it. Here, watch.”

He played the sequence where he was kneeling between Armie's legs and Armie had answered 'Yeah' when Tim had asked if he'd punch him, freezing the screen right after.

“And you did. More than once.” Tim sighed, touching the red mark on his neck.

“The fuck! But I wouldn't... I mean? God, my head is killing me. Tim, you need to see a doctor-”

“I'm fine. Just remember, this was our last night.”

Armie turned away and that was when he became aware of the dildo, the clamps, the paddle. He reached for the latter, stroking it. Then he looked back at Tim, confused. “Where do these come from? I can't remember using these...”

“Believe me, you did.” He held up his boxers, soiled with blood.

Armie rolled over in the sheets, staring at the ceiling. It seemed he needed a moment before he was able to put two and two together: “Why do you have us on film?”

Tim couldn't suppress a small proud grin.

“You said it would be the last time. I wanted to make sure you keep your promise. I have everything we did last night recorded. If you try again to blackmail me I now can release material of my own. Very explicit material, showing you hurting me while I beg you to stop. I guess we are quit now.”

He held his breath as he waited for Armie's reaction. Would he call out his bluff, demand to see the whole footage? Seconds ticked by until Armie began to chuckle.

“You're a clever little fucker, Chalamet. Okay, stalemate.”

Tim's face hurt as his grin widened. “Please leave now.”

Armie got up, moaning once more in pain. As he put on his crumpled trousers he said: “It wasn't all bad, was it? You liked some of the things we did, right? We had a good time. No hard feelings.”

Tim grew cold with a wrath he didn't know he had in himself. Armie sounded so rattled it made Tim suddenly aware that he held his heart in his hands.

He decided to crush it.

“No, Armie. I liked you in the beginning and that’s why I tolerated the sex – but I never enjoyed it. I just desperately hoped that I would mean something to you, that the things I led you do to me would make you love me. I'd done anything to make you love me and I'm not sure I can ever forgive myself for that. Because you only used me. You repel me. I never want to see you again.”

To watch Armie's face fall during his words was one of the best things Tim had seen in a long while. When he was finished Armie looked shattered, stupefied.

Tim drank Armie's forlornness in before he turned away, pulling the sheet over his head until he heard the door quietly close.

He waited for a sense of victory, a feeling of triumph to manifest – but nothing happened. He just felt tired and a faint sense of relief.

Before he fell asleep just as the sun started to rise he took a few pictures of his battered face, to file away with his short film clip.

He didn’t hear anything from the Hammers after leaving Austin. A week later he flew to London - where he met Lily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, Tim and Lily will just be friends here... but he needs friends right now.


	17. Coming Back To You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Random luck of the universe strikes. 
> 
> Also, Tim meets Stéphane again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Even in your arms I know_  
>  _I'll never get it right_  
>  _Even when you bend to give me_  
>  _Comfort in the night_  
>  _I've got to have your word on this_  
>  _Or none of it is true_  
>  _And all I've said was just instead of_  
>  _Coming back to you_  
>  -Leonard Cohen-

Leaving the US and the Hammers behind felt like a liberation. In London, Tim could breathe freer. He stayed in a little apartment in Camden, alone, and for the first time in his life this didn't feel like loneliness. Instead, he enjoyed the silence, being able to make his own decisions, spending his days the way he wanted: reading, listening to music, wandering the vibrant city.

Slowly coming back to himself.

Until his days became busy with preparations, riding lessons, fight training, accent coaching.

He met Lily on the day of the first read-through. Her English had a slight French lilt that reminded him of Stéphane, her hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail and she laughed loudly at one of the dumb jokes he made to ease his anxiety.

He instantly liked her.

Afterwards, they went for a coffee. It turned out she was based in Camden as well. They quickly fell into a routine of having breakfast together at a café by the canal and hitting a few local pubs at night.

They became friends the way this quickly happens on film sets where you simply have to bond because you’re thrown into highly intimate scenes with total strangers. But neither of them made a pass at the other. Lily had just split with her boyfriend and Tim still felt too raw after the shitshow he'd been through with Armie and Liz. It was just nice to have a pal, someone to talk to his same age who'd grown up in France and the US as well – though in very different circumstances.

“My family is complètement fou. Like, my mom was this French pop Lolita, and my dad... ugh, I think he lost it some years ago when he married that putain.” Lily shook her head and giggled. “Erin's such a shameless gold digger, I sometimes admire her ruthlessness.”

Tim quickly changed the subject.

He just went back to the US once to attend Coachella. It had been his dream ever since he'd discovered Hip Hop as a nine year old boy and now he even got a backstage pass and could not only meet but also hang out with his idols.

He'd relaxed a little over the past few weeks as all the tension and pressure he'd been under fell away. Now he partied at Coachella, snogging some girl he met in the VIP lounge and didn't even ask for her name. Same happened a month later at Cannes, where he went to finalize his contract for Dune. Signing these papers felt like getting even further out of Armie's reach. He was making his own way. One day he would be famous and established enough to be untouchable. Then whatever compromising material the Hammers had on him would turn to dust.

He wanted to celebrate his newfound freedom and as there seemed no shortage of willing blond models he took advantage of it. Should they leak their little adventures to the press – all the better because it made Tim look less and less gay and therefore less and less vulnerable.

When shooting for The King began first in London and then transferred to Budapest it became apparent that his and Lily's friendship helped a lot. They trusted each other. Shakespeare was totally new to Tim, as were fight scenes on horseback or period costumes. Not to mention his haircut! Lily laughed so loud when she first saw him that the make-up department had to patch her up again because her mascara ran down her cheeks.

He didn't hear anything from neither Armie nor Liz for months. Not that he minded. Sometimes he outright forgot about them.

He didn't know if Armie had told his wife that Tim now had a video of his own. It still made Tim rejoice in quiet triumph when he thought about the memory card securely deposited in a safe locker in London to which only Brian and Pauline had access apart from him. It had been a risky bluff but he hoped it would at least buy him enough time to distance himself as far as possible.

He'd sworn that neither Liz nor Armie would ever touch him again and his little video was the token for this promise.

As the hot summer sun of the Hungarian puszta burned down on him, it seemed as if all the filth and dirt that had formed a grubby patina around Tim's heart over the past two years just melted away.

What emerged wasn't the naive wide-eyed boy he'd been prior to everything but a young man steeled and hardened by experience. Lily said that he sometimes looked so much older than his actual age when he thought no one was looking at him but that didn't scare Tim. On the contrary, it made him proud. True, he'd lost something – spontaneity, candor - but he'd also gained a lot: confidence, focus, knowledge.

He would never fall head over heels for someone again. He'd decided that love, relationships simply were too messy, too distracting and too demanding for him. An unimportant fling here and there - yes, that suited him. He wasn't a monk after all.

But he would never let someone get close again. The short bliss and elation wasn't worth the hurt and trouble. Loving someone meant trusting someone, opening up, making yourself vulnerable.

He'd never risk that again. Especially as it was most likely that everyone he met from now on would only want to milk him for his fame. But he accepted this conjuncture. It was the prize he was prepared to pay to succeed in his craft, which felt more like a calling than a profession. He was sure he could forfeit love - but never acting. Giving it up would mean dying.

In all honesty, he felt content. He had friends, interesting projects lined up, and the occasional one-night stand as an outlet for his desires.

What could he want more?

It was a carefree summer he spent in Europe, the first in years. He recharged, despite the demanding work load. He was in his element, soaking up the experience like sponge.

He didn't know it yet, but he would need all his strength when he returned to New York in autumn.

^^^^^^

Johnny Miller is aware that he'll only ever be a little part-time thief. He lacks both dedication and motivation to be anything else, has been in and out of jail since he was fourteen and now only dreams of a bigger flat screen and a cool pair of trainers.

Not aiming any higher. What's the point?

Currently, he's on probation again, shares a shitty apartment full of cockroaches and fleas with his newest girlfriend and tries to avoid touching his latest, still itching tattoo – a thorny rose covering his bulging right pectoral – while going through his latest loot.

It's early October but as their air con broke down several weeks ago and the fucking piece of shit of their landlord sees no urgency to repair it, sweat is running down his back, his tank top sticking to his skin. Serena is dosing on the battered couch, her dirty, burned glass flask sitting among candy wrappers and half-empty drink cans on the low table donated by some church charity. When she wakes up she'll need another hit.

Johnny hopes he'll find something in the box he took from that house this morning that he can sell to make some money. The people didn't look as if they'd miss it soon but also wealthy enough that it might contain something valuable.

He's been working for the removal company for a few weeks by now and it turned out to give him the perfect opportunity to get into some rich folks houses legally, go through their stuff and take what he wants. Not too much, nothing big, but an iPhone here and a laptop there...

Because the customers are moving houses they don't think their stuff got nicked but rather that it got lost or misplaced. His employer is insured to compensate them should they complain. So no harm done. A win-win situation for everyone.

This morning it had been especially easy as they moved most of the couple's things into storage. Apparently, they had sold their old house but their new wasn't ready yet so they would stay at some condo in between with just the bare necessities – Johnny shakes his head when he remembers the pile of suitcases the lady of the house seemed to need for her dresses alone, comparing it to Serena's three track suits – stowing most of their furniture and a mountain of boxes and crates at a warehouse. It might be spring before they'll discover that the box he'd taken was gone. If at all.

Perfect timing.

Turns out this time Johnny's truly lucky. Back at the house he'd just glanced inside, quickly grabbing it as it seemed filled with all kinds of computer equipment. Now as he unpacks he can't stop grinning: cables, external hard drives, a digital SLR camera, three smartphones.

Wow!

He’ll call Eddie and is sure this will at least get him a hundred bucks. Enough to get him and Serena through the weekend.

He meets Eddie an hour later at a desolate car park. After one look inside the box he even offers him $ 120. Johnny can't believe his luck and takes it, thanking Eddie profusely.

“Yeah, fuck off.” Eddie knows the right places to sell this stuff to for at least three times the money he'd given that smackhead Johnny. But, hey, that's how it works here: Eat or be eaten.

And that's how the Hammers’ external hard drive containing pics and footage of Armie, Liz and Tim together in various compromising scenarios ends up sitting on the shelf of a used electronics shop in Northern LA.

And it might have stayed there for months if the owner hadn't needed a last minute Christmas present for one of his nieces, and as his wife told him that she was into digital painting he'd decided to give her one of the dubious hard drives he'd acquired via that shady Eddie who couldn't tell a motherboard from a graphics adapter but somehow thought himself the next Steve Jobs...

So, when fifteen year old Lucy Pullman plugs her new external hard drive into her laptop on the evening of Christmas Day 2018 she gets the shock of her life. Her screams alert her dad, who'd never liked his brother and suspected something dodgy with that retail shop of his anyway. When he sees what's playing on his daughter's screen, it's the rather welcome last straw he needs to throw his brother out, along with his annoying wife and grumpy kids. He then takes the offending device down to his garage and smashes it with a sledge hammer until everything that remains of the evidence of what Armie and Liz did to Tim are tiny black and silver shreds.

^^^^^^

Meanwhile, Tim's stay in Europe came to an end. This time, returning to New York didn't feel so strange. Maybe because Lily would be there as well?

Over the summer, Tim had decided that he finally needed his own place. His mum, as an estate agent, had found the perfect apartment for him in the East Village, an airy loft with whitewashed walls and a nice view over Tompkins Square Park, right at the corner of Avenue B and East 8th street.

He brought over his stuff from his parents' apartment and Giullian's place in one afternoon, bought a mattress, towels, a few glasses and plates and felt very mature and self-sufficient.

At the end of the week he threw a housewarming party for all his friends. One or two asked him if he'd seen Armie's play and he denied. It was over now anyway and the Hammers had already left New York last week. Brian had checked.

Lily danced with him when everyone had left to Francoise Hardy's _Tous Les Garcons Et Les Filles_ and then they shared a joint, watching the sun rise before heading out to Mud for coffee.

He was only granted a short break, though. In September he was back at TIFF, premiering Beautiful Boy. The film was received to mixed reviews but what blew Tim's mind was the fan reception. Girls and boys were screaming his name at the red carpet. Had he been able to pass unrecognized those last few years – those days were clearly over.

It was pure mayhem. Not that he minded.

The only thing he feared was to meet Armie in Toronto because he had a film screening as well but then thankfully his flight got delayed.

Instead Tim met Stéphane again.

They bumped into each other at Xavier Dolan's premiere. Did Tim expect it? Maybe... he'd known Stéphane was nominated for an award, so...

But he was totally over him, right? Right. They could exchange a few words, though, as adults did at these occasions.

He was pretty sure he’d handle it mature and cool until their eyes met in the crowded foyer. It was Tim who walked over, as if pulled by some magnetic attraction.

“Hey, stranger.” Stéphane greeted him without a smile.

“Ugh... hey...” Tim wanted to tuck his curls behind his ears, remembered too late that they were still too short and just ended up making an awkward gesture, cursing himself for having rejected the glass of champagne a waiter had offered him earlier.

The silence stretched between them until Tim hoped for the ground to swallow him. It didn't comply. He searched for Brian but his agent seemed to have disappeared.

“Don't you have anything to say?” Stéphane asked eventually, digging his hands into his pockets.

Tim swallowed. “Sorry?”

That made Stéphane snort a bitter laugh.

“”Sorry... that's all? I thought we were friends, I really liked you and then suddenly – nothing. You ghosted me, even blocked my number. Timothée, bon sang, what happened?”

“I... I was in a bad place, it was all too much…” Where had all the air in the room gone?

“I was too much? We were too much?” Stéphane didn't let go. Why couldn't they just make some small talk, then part for good?

“No!” It came out too loud, too fast. Heads turned. “We can't talk here. Can you meet me somewhere later?” Was he really asking Stéphane out? Why? Whatever had been between them was dead, killed off by Tim himself.

“Do you have time, Mr. Movistar?” But now Stéphane was just teasing him.

“I’ll make time.” Sink or swim, Tim.

“I'd say I'll call you but-”

Tim took his phone out and unblocked Stéphane’s number, turning the screen towards him to show him. “Okay?”

They hugged briefly before Tim left. He felt dazed as he walked back to his hotel. Maybe this time they would stand a chance?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sie, it's starting to get uncomfortable for Liz...


	18. Haunted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim tries to move on but some things can't just be forgotten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _You're aching, so am I_   
>  _When I awaken, discover that_   
>  _I've been damaged by your world_   
>  **-Disturbed-**

They met at a bar in downtown Toronto and had a few drinks, catching up. Well, maybe more than a few drinks...

At first, they kept to safe ground – recent projects, mutual acquaintances...

But after the third daiquiri Stéphane asked boldly: “Why did you ghost me?”

Tim stared into his lap as if the answer could be found there... well, maybe it could?

He took a deep breath and decided to tell the truth: “I... was getting a little paranoid. I know I sound like a complete twat but all this fame, all the attention... it made me so anxious. I panicked.” It was as honest as he could get without giving his secret away.

“You thought what? That I was just a famewhore?” Stéphane sounded seriously amused but maybe also a little wounded.

Tim shrugged. “As I said, I wasn't in a good place... it had happened before with other people... schoolmates messaged me with whom I didn't talk in years... even guys who'd made my life hell in middle-school suddenly tried to be friends with me... folks I'd worked with on small projects... it seemed everyone wanted a piece of me.” He trailed off before angling for his drink. “I needed time for myself.”

“Did you get it?” Stéphane stared at him.

“Yeah, I guess... over the summer. Being away from it all really helped.” He turned and playfully nuzzled Stéphane's shoulder. He smelled good, Tim noticed.

“So, now...?” There was a thinly veiled question hanging between them.

Tim took his time to answer. Because he had made a decision, right? Never fall in love again. Only, Stéphane was still really nice, an empathetic listener, and his eyes were... so warm, honest. Tim wanted to drown in them... god, he really had drunk too much. “I can't make promises. It's all a bit chaotic right now. But I've found a way to deal... with things.”

“What would you say if I suggest we went for a walk?” Stéphane grinned at him as he waved the waitress over to ask for their tab.

This time, they ended up at Tim's suite.

It quickly became a frantic tangle of limbs as they undressed each other in a state of mild intoxication. Tim was ashamed how needy he felt.

But it had been a while.

He couldn't wait to get his hands and mouth on another human being. To touch, to feel, to taste...

At least he thought so – until Stéphane pinned him down on the mattress, his hard, leaking cock poking Tim into his concave belly.

Tim froze. Swallowed. Tried to get back into the right headspace... Stéphane was kissing his neck, entwining their fingers, he was tender, he really smelled nice...

… and yet.

Tim needed to stop this. Stop him. Right now.

He opened his mouth to say something but nothing came out.

He was on the verge of crying when Stéphane pulled back, looking down at him.

“You're not okay, are you?” He asked softly.

Tim just shook his head. His face felt wet.

“So-orry.” He eventually sobbed.

“Hey... don't...” Stéphane sat back.

But Tim just rolled onto his side, hugging his shins as he pulled the duvet over himself. “Please, just go.”

Stéphane scooted further back and Tim closed his eyes. Another chance he'd squandered. Stéphane would leave, and this time for good. No one liked to be stood up again and again by some frigid tease who couldn't see things through... especially not someone like Stéphane, who surely wasn't short of opportunities to get his dick wet. Why he'd hooked up with Tim in the first place was still a mystery to him... maybe out of pity?

Tim waited for the door to fall shut but instead he heard a low voice ask: “Is it okay if I stay on the couch?”

“What?” Tim sat up, wiping his snotty nose with the sheet. Stéphane was wearing his boxers and t-shirt again. But nothing else.

“The couch?” He pointed over into the sitting room. “I really don't want to leave you alone like this.”

“Why not?” Tim was baffled.

“Because... Jesus, Timothée, we're friends. Something's obviously wrong with you. You really think I just fuck off like that?”

“Others would.” Tim deadpanned.

“You've got your fair share of assholes then, bébé.”

Tim laughed through his tears. “Yeah, I guess...” He looked up at Stéphane through his wet lashes. “You don't have to take the couch. We can share here...” It was a queen-size bed after all and they were both slim.

“You sure?”

Tim nodded. “Just, let me put something on. And stay on your side.”

“I'll try.”

He failed, but it didn't matter.

The next evening, they all went out together: Tim, Stéphane, Lily, Xavier, Louis Garell. An opulent dinner became some sort of bacchanal. Everyone spoke French and Tim was so happy to be with friends that his face hurt from smiling.

When he needed air, he went out onto the balcony of the restaurant. Stéphane followed him. It was already cold, an early autumnal chill tangible in the night air. They ended up once again huddled together under a blanket on a bench, staring up at the dark sky.

“You remember the last time?” Stéphane asked.

Tim hummed and nodded, snuggling closer.

“Is there something between you and Lily? You seem close.” He asked after a while.

Tim shook his head and chuckled. “We're just friends.”

“Like we're just friends?”

“Are we?” Tim wrapped an arm around Stéphane's waist.

“You tell me, Timothée. I can't figure you out.”

It took Tim a moment to answer. “I'm trying. But it's not easy.”

“Would it help if I came with you to New York for a bit? So we could... try together?”

“I'd really like that.” Tim felt so content at this moment that he couldn't fathom the complete meltdown he'd have a few weeks later when Armie's phone-call brought back all the shit he'd been so desperately trying to forget.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are nearing the end.


	19. Coming Clean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We are catching up. The blind comes out. Remember this is all fiction. I'm playing fast and loose with the timeline.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Secrets collecting dust but never forget_  
>  _Skeletons come to life in my closet_  
>  _I found out what it takes to be a man_  
>  -Green Day-

Brian wasn't happy when Stéphane accompanied Tim back to New York.

“It's my life. My decision.” Tim stood his ground.

“Tim, I'm not saying you can't have a boyfriend-”

“He's not my boyfriend.”

“-but please, be reasonably discreet. I really don't want to be that person but remember what happened with your last crush.”

“That's fucking unfair.” He wouldn't allow Brian to feed the doubts still eating away at him.

“I know. But the world out there is just waiting for you to make a mistake so they can start to throw shit at you. And sharing your apartment with a French guy... come on. I do everything I can not to confirm anything but you have to give me some room to maneuver.”

They talked about it. Stéphane took Brian's side.

“If you're not sure it's not worth taking the risk to come out.”

“How can you say that?” Tim was a little take aback by Stéphane's rational approach.

“Because I'm your friend. I don't want to pressure you into something you might regret.”

So Tim tried to lay low again. They cooked instead of going out to dinner, only met friends. Never touched in public.

Which didn't mean they didn't touch at all. On the contrary. True, they didn't sleep together but Tim slowly relaxed under Stéphane's patient, tender hands.

He really liked kissing him. They made out for hours on his bed, watching Netflix, talking about the roles they'd auditioned for but didn't get. Usually this would have distressed Tim but with Stéphane it was surprisingly easy – maybe because they could share their disappointment and thereby transform it into an experience to learn from?

Then a funny thing happened when Tim, Lily and Stéphane all flew to Europe; Lily and Tim headed to San Sebastian for the film festival, Stéphane went back home to Paris to work.

Suddenly, the Spanish press started to speculate if Lily and Tim were a couple. He laughed out loud when Lily translated him some tweets.

“Seriously?” He giggled, lying back on the bed popped up on his elbows.

Lily nodded, grinned, and shrugged before she continued to parade evening dresses in front of him as she couldn't decide what to wear for her premiere.

When Tim returned to New York, Brian awaited him with his latest idea: “You and Lily... I mean, why not?”

“What?!”

“If the press thinks you're together without you even doing anything than what you do together anyway... isn't that great? You like her, she likes you. Remember, you're safer with a girlfriend.”

“You don't really think she would agree to such a sham...” Tim shook his head.

But she did. 

“Oh, that'll be fun!” Lily clapped her hands together, jumping up and down. “My ex will be fuming.”

“We might have to give the press something, though... like some smooching...” Tim blushed.

“Don't look like that would kill you, Timothée.” She giggled. “We kissed for our film, remember? At our wedding.”

It didn't kill him.

But then Stéphane called. “You could've warned me.”

Tim wasn't sure if he sounded angry.

“I didn't know you'd even hear about it...” He mumbled.

“The papers over here are full of the story. Oh man, listen to this 'Has the young actress finally found the love of her life in the rising French-American star?' Or this: 'Lily-Rose Depp can't take her eyes off her fiancee' – I didn't know you were ready to tie the knot with her.”

“Fuck.” Tim groaned. “This is so, so embarrassing. She was more likely longingly eyeing my fried chicken. It was just a joke... but Brian thought... well... you know how he is.”

“He thought you and her would help because of you and me.” Stéphane stated.

“I had no idea this would gain such momentum, Steph. It means nothing to me.”

There was a short silence. “When can I see you again?”

“I'll be in London mid-October.”

“Fine.”

Once again, Tim came to appreciate how discreet the Claridge's was. A year earlier he'd stayed here with Armie. Now it was Stéphane who emerged naked from the bathroom when the breakfast was brought up.

“Wow, full English.” He teased Tim, stealing his bacon. “That can't be kosher.”

“Fuck off!”

Tim almost jumped him, tackling him onto the bed. They rolled around a little, mock-wrestling, until Stéphane ended up on top of him.

“Still okay?” He checked in, kissing Tim passionately when he nodded.

They still hadn't done it – yet. But Tim felt more and more at ease with Stéphane, losing his inhibitions.

Now they did grind against each other, panting, their hard cocks seeking the others body for friction until Tim bit down on Stéphane's shoulder to stifle a small cry as he came.

In the afternoon, Stéphane was still lazing in bed when Tim got ready for his premiere.

“Wow, that's a suit, man!”

“Alexander McQueen. You like it?”

“Is that a homage to Tyler the Creator?”

Tim just threw him a look. “And if?”

“Nothing. It's sweet. My Flower Boy.”

“You sure you don't want to come?”

“And give Brian a coronary? No. I see you later at the theater instead.”

Tim really wanted to attend the wrap party for The Inheritance.

“I'm sure you'll like the play.”

He kissed Stéphane good-bye and went to work.

It was – well, not perfect; nothing truly was. But it was good. Really, really good.

Until Armie's call.

^^^^^^

As he calms down a little after the first shock of Armie phoning him Tim wonders who might have leaked the story to the notorious gossip site. Someone he knew? Why?

He doesn't have to wait long for an answer though.

After an hour spent on the cold bathroom floor his phone starts to ring none-stop, bringing him back to reality. His back is stiff and his stomach still hurts but at least he doesn't feel dizzy anymore. He crawls over into the main room where he dropped his phone and sees it's Lily's number on the display.

Thank god!

“Hey.” He croaks.

“God, Timmy, you sound horrible. Are you alright?”

“Depends. I think I might get a cold.”

“Oh... okay... sorry but... I think we need to talk.”

“About what? Our engagement?” His laugh is dry and humorless.

“I think you should sit down.” Her voice sounds strained.

“Okay.” It's not as if he'd been standing but he sinks onto his mattress nonetheless. There's a water bottle next to it he greedily empties, his phone stuck between cheek and shoulder.

“I remember I told you about my step-mother once. The putain.” Lily spits the last word into the phone.

Oh fuck! Tim swallows too fast, ending up in a coughing fit.

“I don't remember... maybe...” He lies. Please, what is this day?

“Uhm... well... Now my dad just sent me an email. He apologizes profusely but... he's planning to sue her in a civil court case next year for compensation... did I mention my family is totally crazy? Anyway... as leverage... he might have leaked something Erin told him... out of spite, before the divorce during one of their fights... god, those fights! Yeah, so, he might have passed that on to a gossip site... something about... you and her... something nasty... Oh, Timmy, I'm so sorry. I mean, I've no idea how his whacked mind works these days. Maybe it was my fault? I talked to him about you... If I had only known... why did you never tell me?” Her voice cracks.

She doesn't even ask if it's true, Tim realizes. Apparently, things like threesomes are quite normal in her world. A little party game. Nothing to make a fuzz about.

He takes a deep breath, exhales slowly.

“Yeah, I don't know... You're the second person to call me and tell me about it today, actually.” He's surprised how calm he feels all of a sudden. “So maybe I should worry?”

“Why did you never say anything?” Lily asks softly.

“Because I wanted to forget. Because I was so ashamed. I still am.” But at least now he can put it into words.

“Shall I come over?”

“Yes, please.”

Lily hugs him when he lets her in. They smoke a joint, sitting on his bed, listening to Kid Cudi until she drags him outside to get some food in the afternoon, holding his hand. They get papped but he doesn't care. She even stays the night so he doesn't have to be alone. They watch the Golden Globe nominations the next morning and Tim's name gets called for Best Supporting Actor she kisses him, holds him and congratulates him.

“You should phone Stéphane. And tell him everything.” She even makes coffee, pressing a bowl of cafe au lait into his hands.

“He'll be disgusted.” He had put this talk off for as long as possible. It's only a matter of when not if Stéphane will have enough of his escapades and runs for the hills. Tim can't even blame him. His life is like a soap opera. A bad soap opera.

“Timmy, don't do that to yourself.” Lily squeezes his upper arm. “He likes you very much. Have you spoken to Brian?”

“No, I switched of my phone.”

“Not smart. Call him. He'll be over the moon because of the Globes.”

She has to leave early because she has a photo shooting but promises to return in the afternoon.

Tim decides to call Brian first. Talking to Stéphane will be his reward for acting mature with his agent.

“Timothée, congratulations! Two years in a row. We have to plan-”

“Have you seen it?”

Silence.

“Yes, I have.” Brian sounds serious.

“Sorry.” Apparently, it gets easier every time.

“Jesus, Timo. But this is not your fault.”

“Yeah... but it's still shit.” He's proud that he's not crying anymore.

“Oh, Timothée...”

“I know Brian, I'm an idiot! I'm-”

“That's not what I was about to say. I wanted to say that you've been through a lot. I think I understand now why you like Stéphane so much.”

Tim needs a moment to process this.

“So you're not angry? You're not dumping me because I'm a complete moron? And a slut.”

“You are a two times Golden Globe nominee. Of course I'm not dropping you. But if Enty starts to target you we need a strategy. It also means that you're somebody now. He doesn't bother with small fry.”

“Thanks. This makes me feel much better.” Tim answers dryly.

“Do you have someone who can stay with you over the next couple of days? Maybe Stéphane?”

“No, he's working. But Lily will be around.”

“Is that wise? Erin was married to her father...”

“Wasn't it your idea, the loving couple? Besides, she's my friend.” He knows he might sound petulant and ungrateful. To make up for it, he doesn't tell Brian what Lily's father did. His agent will find out soon enough. And in the end it doesn't really matter. All that matters is that his secret is out. One of his secrets. He has to wait what the outfall will be, how far it reaches.

It's been taken out of his hands.

Brian grunts and reluctantly agrees. “But maybe make sure not to be seen with her too often over the next few days, okay? For now we have to keep you as far away from that family as possible.”

After they hang up he quickly checks his texts and emails. His inbox is already bursting with congratulations. No one's asking about the blind. He takes it as a good omen and calls Paris.

“Oh my god, I watched it life, I can't believe it!” Stéphane shouts down the line. “I called you right away but you were busy, I only reached your mailbox. How are you?”

“Fine. Good. Excited. Happy.” Tim realizes it's true as he says it. “Will you come with me?” It's a spur of the moment decision but he really wants to stop hiding Stéphane. What good has all the secrecy done him?

“As your plus one? We'll see about that.” He sounds a little reluctant. Does he know? Tim's mouth goes dry. He needs to tell him. Unprompted. If he wants Stéphane to trust him he has to be honest with him. Even if it's hard.

“Stéphane? Uhm... I want to talk to you about a few things.”

He can hear him breathe ten thousand miles away like he's sitting next to him. “Good. That's good. I was waiting for that. But not on the phone, okay? Can it wait? When can you come over?”

“I hope for Christmas.” Tim is a little relieved that he just got a short reprieve for the confession he has to make.

“Okay, let's talk then. Now, do you know what you'll be wearing to the Globes?”

Two weeks later Tim flies with Lily to Paris. They get papped at the airport and that's the perfect cover for a few days he'll spend with... whatever Stéphane is to him at this point, while Lily will visit her family and celebrate her mother's birthday.

It's the first time he visit's Stéphane in his small flat in Montmartre. The kitchenette is part of the living room, the bath is tiny, but the bedroom overlooks a romantically shabby courtyard.

Stéphane hands Tim a glass of wine even as it's only midday (for Tim it's much later and anyway, this is France), sits back on his couch and waits until he's ready.

“So... I don't know if you've seen it... there's been some gossip on the web...”

“About you and Lily? You know I saw that.”

“No, not about me and Lily.” Tim takes a huge gulp, coughs and puts his glass down. “A few years ago I made a movie with the woman Lily's father was married to. Now she's his ex-wife. She and another actor... groomed me until, one night... you know... we had sex.”

Tim stares at the wooden floor of Stéphane's flat. The textured vein is fascinating. What these worn boards must have seen? Dramas, wars, love, death...

“How old were you?” Stéphane's voice is low, shaking.

“Eighteen. We drank, they gave me some pills, things happened. I didn't much like it.” Tim can't look at him.

Stéphane gets up and pours himself a glass of wine as well, drains it in one go.

“Merde! Why didn't you tell me this earlier?”

“Because... because I told another person, he swore to keep my secret... but he didn't. Instead, he used it against me to get some... favors.”

The tension is palpable in the small flat. Stéphane reaches for Tim's hand, clasps it in his own, strokes his thumb over Tim's knuckles.

“Sexual favors?”

Tim can only nod, biting his bottom lip. His face burns but he has to get through this, preferably without breaking down.

“Was that why you cut ties with me last spring? Because you feared I would be just another asshole, using what happened between us against you?”

“Ye-es.” Tim whispers. “Among other things. I was just... afraid... what would happen... if I let you in.”

Stéphane is silent for a long time, staring out of the window into the cold Parisian December day. Tim has no idea what he's thinking. Will he end things now that he knows? Is he appalled?

Does he pity Tim? That would be the worst.

“Can you talk about it?” Stéphane asks eventually, his voice hoarse.

“I'd rather not, if that's okay.” It has been hard enough so far. Disclosing more would be too much. He's not sure he's ready to put what happened into words.

Stéphane turns, his eyes red-rimmed. “Of course that's okay. I'm... I can't tell you how honored I feel that you trust me enough to tell me this. You're so fucking brave, Timothée.”

Tim pulls his hand away. Is Stèphane taking the piss? “I'm really not. I'm a coward and a-”

“Stop that!” Tim is a little shocked when Stéphane gets down onto his knees in front of him and grabs both his hands, squeezing them tightly. “Shut up, okay. Did I ever tell you how that famous French director felt me up when I auditioned for him when I was just sixteen? No. Or when the same happened three years later, only this time it was an American producer, and I didn't stop him but never heard of them again anyway? I didn't tell you because I was so ashamed of myself. I'd done it twice and, honestly, I might have done it again because what else could I do? Look at me? No one's waiting for someone like me. You know how they call me when they think I don't hear them... singe. Monkey. And I smile and pretend not to notice but it's eating me up from the inside. I often feel so powerless... I don't know if that helps you in any way but you're not alone... and I don't think you're a coward because I know that sometimes... sometimes there's no other way than to endure it... and to hope it will be over soon.”

Tim's heart is racing, his blood pounding in his ears. He feels dizzy. He knows he should say something but he can't. This is all too much. Too much love. Too much understanding. Too much redemption.

Stéphane seems to sense that he's on the verge of hyperventilating because he gets up, puts an arm around him and starts to massage his back.

“Breathe. Slowly. Just breathe, Timothée.”

He does.

They end up drinking four bottles of Bordeaux until they pass out on the floor in front of the couch, Tim's head in Stéphane's lap. A call from Lily wakes them around midnight. There's loud music in the background and they are not sure they understand her because every participant in this conversation is to a certain degree drunk but it seems that her dad is so embarrassed over what he did that he invites Tim and all his friends to spend a week on his private Caribbean island after Christmas.

Next day, Tim thinks he'd dreamed that until an email arrives, including the itinerary for the hiring of a private jet, leaving Paris on the 26th for Guana Island near the British Virgin Islands.

It's there, on the beach, the waves lapping at the warm sand, above them once again just a starry night sky, that he finally lets Stéphane make love to him – deliciously slow, gazing at the ink blue firmament. It's ridiculously romantic and when he comes Tim is sure he sees a shooting star and makes a wish. It's his 23rd birthday after all.

He never tells anyone what he asked for. It's his secret and for once it's a good one.

Stéphane holds him tight afterwards, strokes his chest, his stomach, and whispers: “Monsieur Chalamet, je pense que je t'aime beaucoup.”

Tim laughs, turns, kisses him and then discovers that sand between the buttocks is a true pain in the ass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just one chapter to go. But it will be ugly. Be careful!


	20. Your Heart Cries At Night Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Still it burns, guess it's a blessing and a curse_  
>  _Life goes on, this another lesson learned_  
>  -Little Simz-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm actually a little afraid to post this last chapter. I never have written anything like this before. I'm sorry. But it is what came to my mind on how to end this story. 
> 
> Okay, there's some heavy stuff coming. It starts with Armie's PoV and there are some very bad things happening, including child assault. Please, if that's too much for you, scroll down to the cut when they all meet for the last time in LA. That part is hopefully uplifting in some way.
> 
> I maybe should have edited this more but I simply couldn't touch this chapter again. It got to me... so take it as it is, please.
> 
> And, of course, this is fiction.
> 
> Thank you for reading!

“Where is it? Armie, for fuck's sake, where did you put it?”

“What?” He's sure Liz told him what she's looking for but he didn't listen. It happens a lot lately.

“The box with the computer stuff! Lord, give me strength!” She’s raising her hands skywards as if in prayer.

“We had a box for computer stuff?” He can't remember. Doesn't care. Something that also happens a lot lately.

“Yes, when we moved and put everything into storage, I packed a box with our old phones and other devices. Where is it?”

“Why do you need an old phone? You've got the newest one.”

“Armie!” Her tone is stern, cold. He hates it when she gets like this. He instantly drops to his knees.

“I'm waiting...” She snarls.

“I'm sorry, Liz. I didn't listen. I've been negligent.” He doesn't dare to look at her.

“So, do I have your attention now?”

“Yes, Liz.”

“Where is the box?”

Armie concentrates, hard. Thinks he can recall a black IKEA crate full of cables and... odd computer parts. But he has no idea where it's gone.

“Maybe it's in storage?” He dares to suggest.

Wrong.

“No, it's not. I checked today.” Liz replies icy.

“Why? What's so important about some old phones?”

Liz walks over to where he's still crouching on the floor, towering over him in her high-heels, tight jeans and white blows.

“What's so important about it, Armie? Well, we haven't heard much of your old friend Timothy lately, don't you think? He's got nominated for all these awards while you got... what? Remind me… Zero, Armie. You got nothing! You’re just a failure, a loser I tied myself to.”

Armie swallows. “I'm sorry, Liz.” He mumbles again.

She continues as if he hadn't said anything. “And as you are too much of a useless coward to remind Timmy of what he owes us, of his responsibilities – it's once again up to me. As basically always. He'll be at the Globes next week. He could take you as his plus one. But did he ask yet? No! So I think he needs a little reminder. I thought I should send him one of the lovely pictures we took of him. Only, apparently, the hard drive I saved them on is nowhere to be found!” Her voice has hardened over her little monologue. Armie knows that this tone doesn't bode well.

He didn't have the courage to tell her about Tim's counter move in Austin. He'd just hoped she'd let the whole thing slide over the summer when Tim had been gone. But apparently she didn't. Tim getting linked to Johnny Depp's daughter over the past few weeks had only sparked her greed for attention anew.

Of course she'd eventually seen the blind. She'd stared at the screen for long minutes and then had asked for Armie to bring her the cane. The really thin one.

She'd suspected him of leaking the thing to a journalist, maybe on a drunken night after a screening of his new film. And maybe he had? He often can't recall what he did the night before these days. It all blurs. 

Drink. Pain. Loneliness.

So he probably deserved the thrashing she'd administered that night. She'd beaten him until his skin split open and she had to stop because her arm hurt. He'd thanked her afterwards as he'd learned to do and had slept on the floor next to the bed for the rest of the week.

He fears this is what awaits him tonight again.

For now, she only grabs his chin, squeezing hard. “I need you to focus. Where is the box with the phones and the external hard drive?”

Armie racks his brain. He really does “I think I saw it last when we packed up the office in October before we moved out?”

“Yes?”

“It sat on the desk. And then... one of the removal guys took it and... that's the last time I've seen it.” He swallows. He knows it's not good enough. He deserve his punishment and lowers his head in acceptance. Maybe he will only receive a mild penalty.

Liz sighs, annoyed and angry. “Armie, I wished you wouldn't force me to do this. You know it hurts me maybe even worse than it hurts you-”

“Liz, please, don't... I'm really sorry I can't be more help. Maybe if you give me time...” He's begging. Because he knows the look on her face. This one will be bad.

“-but mommy knows best what you need. And right now you need the cane. So get it.”

Armie swallows, tries to shuffle closer to her, to plead. “Mommy, please...” His voice is small, as small as he feels.

“The cane! Now!”

It's no use. It's never any use. He should know by now. He quickly gets up and walks over into their small bedroom, opens the closet and takes the thin fiberglass rod out, weighing it in his hand.

Thank god the kids are at a playdate.

He returns to the living area, kneels and presents the cane to Liz the way he's supposed to do. If he behaves she might go easy on him.

“Get up. Pull your pants down. Brace yourself against the wall.” Her commands make his stomach clench.

He obeys.

“Let’s see if this jogs your memory.”

The cane hisses through the air before it bites into his flesh.

Fifteen minutes later he's a sobbing mess, blood running down the back of his thighs. His ass must look like mincemeat. His legs have given out twice already and he's not sure how much more he can take.

It's been a while since mommy had been this angry with him.

“Please, please... I'm sorry... mommy, please, stop. I'll be good. I didn't do it. It wasn't me-” He splutters, snot and tears running down his face.

“Excuses and lies! That's all what I get from you, you spineless piece of shit!”

The cane whistles again. When it hit's his buttocks Armie blacks out for a second, smashing his head against the wall to counter the pain in his ass.

“Mommy, please... no more, please no more...” He whispers, only half-conscious, his throat raw from sobbing.

“I could have married anyone but I chose you. I'll regret that day until I die.” He hears her walk away, her heels clicking on the terracotta tiles of their small condo. As he tries to draw a deep breath the agony overwhelms him.

He simply can't keep upright anymore. Whatever she'll do to him next, he can't prevent his tormented body sinking to the floor, getting on all fours, crouching down to ease the pain. His skin burns as if on fire. He needs ice, bandages. But he doesn't dare to look over his shoulder to access the damage.

A few times in the past these sessions have ended with him in hospital where he made up a wild story about his clumsiness, entertaining the whole ward. The doctors had smiled at Liz, the poor wife of this maniac who'd drunkenly broken his hand, for example, or got a black eye engaging in a boxing match. If he'd been a woman they might have asked questions, but him being a man, 6'5, muscled, no one seemed to suspect anything.

“You promised me everything. Look at you now.” Liz spits out, returning with a bunch of keys in her hands. “You make me sick. Get up or I give you more.”

Trembling, Armie stumbles to his feet, wipes his face with shaking hands. His trousers lie crumpled up in the corner. 

Mommy doesn't like it when he makes a mess.

“What are you doing, mommy?” He asks, voice hoarse from crying and pleading.

“I’m having enough. You'll go to your room and stay there.”

“No, please...”

“Shut.Up!” Liz hisses, and her tone silences Armie immediately.

She leads him over to a door next to the entrance. Behind it is a small windowless room, more like a broom cupboard. For someone with Armie's height and built it's impossible to sit down in it nor to stand upright. It's also pitch-black dark.

In the early days, when they were dating, Armie had wanted to be honest with Liz, to share his fears with her, confide in her as his best friend. And so he had told Liz about a punishment his mother used to inflict on him as a kid and that still haunted him to the point where anxiety attacks threatened to make him choke: Drew used to lock him up in the basement of their house in Dallas.

He can't have been older than three or four because then they moved to LA and there they didn't have a cellar – much to Armie's relief... but he remembers it vividly. The darkness. The noises. The loneliness. No matter how much he'd screamed or kicked against the door – no one came to rescue him. So in the end he'd given up, rolled into a tight ball and waited. There'd been sounds (rustles and swishes; now he thinks maybe rats but back then he'd imagined ghosts, monsters, zombies). Quick movements in the dark he'd more felt than seen. Often he'd been so afraid he'd wet himself. 

For which he got the belt afterwards, his mother scolding him for his cries, his cowardice, his tears, calling him filthy, evil, possessed by the devil.

'What are you, a pansy? This will teach you. Real boys don't cry. You're a disgrace to this family.'

Liz had listened to his story, holding his hand. 

When she eventually met Drew they instantly found a connection. They both agreed that Armie needed a firm hand. 

Apparently, Liz's way of helping Armie deal with his traumatizing memories was to reenact them, incorporating the mother-son scenario into her preferred fantasies.

Armie hates it when she does that.

For a moment, in Austin, he'd hoped that Tim could take his place, finally redeeming Armie. But that one night made him think better of it. Armie had realized that he was already beyond redemption – and wouldn't allow for Tim to become as fucked up as he was.

Not precious, open, trusting, beautiful, special Timmy.

So Armie tried to please and placate Liz, doing everything in his power to keep Tim and his wife apart, driving him away with sneers and insults – especially after Tim had pulled his little stunt in Austin. Armie didn't begrudge Tim his leverage – he was secretly glad he'd gained it.

Even when it lead to Liz taking it out on him, administering increasingly severe punishments.

But better than Harper or Ford.

Once or twice Liz had already lost it, slapping the kids, sending them to bed without food, ordering them to sleep on the floor. Armie had tried to soothe them, telling them it was a game, a test, promising them ice-cream and cookies if they played along.

“Mommy loves you. She wants the best for you. She would never hurt you.”

But was that true?

Armie new Liz had taken pictures of the children naked, or just in their bathing suits. It made him cringe. No, it made him sick with worry.

He wouldn't allow her to involve the kinds in her perverse fancy.

He was their dad. He had to protect them. At all cost.

But now he's four again when Liz locks the door of the closet.

He's alone. In the dark... and mommy is very, very angry. 

After a while, it becomes harder and harder to breathe. He focuses on the pain in his ass-cheeks to keep it together, the throbbing in his buttocks the only real thing grounding him in his prison filled with childhood fears closing in on him.

Later, much later, he hears the kids come back. Ford is tired and cries. Harper doesn't want to wear her dress and bow any longer.

Liz's voice gets high and thin.

He wants to help them - but what can he do? He wants to tell them that they should be good, compliant, do as their mother says. It's the way it is. You have to learn to behave, or mommy will punish you.

Usually, he would intervene, bring the kids to bed, then suffer Liz's wrath.

But now he's helpless.

Ford screams and screams and screams. He's too young to understand what he's bringing about himself.

“Get me the belt, Harper.”

Armie balls his hands into fists.

“Mommy... please.” His daughter echoing his own words.

“The belt!”

He can hear his daughter sob, beg. Ford's cries get muffled.

He prays for them just to shut up. Don't make her angry! Don't make her lock you up in the dark as well.

Just do as you're told.

Mommy loves you.

This is how she shows it.

In the end you'll be grateful.

“Mommy, please...” The frail voice of his daughter, shrieking.

“Bend over.”

Armie listens, alone, in the dark, biting his fist not to make a sound.

He'll do anything. Anything Liz wants. If only she stops. If only his kids never find themselves locked inside a dark room, alone.

“Please, mommy, please, it's enough...” He whispers as he counts the slaps his daughter receives just a few feet away.

Warm piss runs down his legs and he wishes he was dead.

Liz is right, he's just a poor excuse of a man, a father, not worthy of her. But he'll try harder. He'll be good. He has to be good, for his children. To be able to protect them.

After Harper it's Ford's turn.

He can hear his daughter shuffling on the other side of the door, sobbing as she's forced to watch, telling Ford to be quiet.

Until the apartment falls finally silent as the kids are send to bed.

“Good night, mommy.” Harper croaks.

Armie spends the night in agony. His body hurts and cramps. He's thirsty and hot. But the worst thing is how much he worries about his kids. He wants to explain what happened to them. Wants to promise them that it will never happen again.

But he's powerless. And his kids are alone, at Liz's mercy.

She lets him out the next morning, frowning at the foul smell. The kids are very quiet at breakfast while Liz makes plans for a family outing.

Armie vaguely remembers that it's Tim's birthday. But Liz has his phone so he can't contact him.

He probably wouldn't want to speak to him anyway. Though Armie would love to hear his voice.

When they get into the car to drive over to the petting zoo Liz had chosen as today's destination of the happy Hammily Harper wears a dress and a bow. Ford doesn't say a word on the whole drive. Armie can barely sit in the drivers seat but Liz wants pictures of the kids with cute baby animals so that's what they'll do.

They never find the box with the hard drive but Tim doesn't win a Golden Globe either. When he's snubbed at the Oscars Armie sighs inwardly with relief.

But Liz still seems unwilling to let go. “Lets call another meeting with Brian.” She suggests.

As always, Armie complies. He can't afford to provoke her. Not just yet.

^^^^^^

It's been almost a year since Tim has seen them. He just returned from London where he promoted Beautiful Boy. In between interviews and TV appearances he'd used his free time to pop over to Paris. To see Stéphane.

They'll go to the Baftas together the next week – again. It's like their anniversary. He'll stay on in Europe afterwards – to film in France and later start _Dune_ in Hungary.

He and Stéphane have made plans. They'll try to meet up as often as possible, at least on the weekends while Tim is in Angoulême. Lily will be in Paris too at the time so that could work as a cover.

Just until after _The King_ premieres, Brian had assured him. Tim is becoming more and more tired of hiding. There are already plans for a carefully conducted coming out. It helps him get through this charade.

Something is wrong with Liz's face, Tim sees it as soon as he walks into the conference room at the Hyatt Regency at LA airport. He's giving a Beautiful Boy Q&A that evening with Nic at UCLA so Brian scheduled to meet the Hammer's before. Tim doesn't have to promote the film anymore, the Oscar campaign is over. But he wants to because the issue is important to him.

Liz's left eye looks weird, her expression strangely impassive, stony even, the skin too tight.

Tim doesn't say hello. Armie looks at him, attempts to smile, stops, averts his eyes. He's gained weight again.

This is awkward as fuck. Thank god Brian's here.

“So, Miss Chambers, you requested this meeting. May we ask why?”

“I get the impression that Timothy is ignoring his duties, disregarding our agreement.”

Tim snorts a laugh.

“You think that's funny?” Liz fixes him with a stare.

“Yes, I actually do. Didn't Armie tell you? The deal is off.”

Armie inhales sharply. Brian shoots him a look.

“I'm sure what Timothée means-” His agent tries to intervene but Liz talks right over him.

“When was the last time you mentioned Armie or myself in an interview? Or on the red carpet? You've been to an awful lot of events lately... but nothing about your best friend, mentor, brother.” Her last words drip with sarcasm. 

Armie mumbles something and Tim looks over, allowing his eyes to linger. Armie's blushing, squirming in his seat. He seems tired. Bloated. With dark circles beneath his blue eyes. They don't sparkle anymore.

“He had to drop cockroaches all over Sundance to get some press coverage. Cockroaches.” Liz sounds appalled.

“Yeah, I heard about that.” Tim hates himself but he actually feels a little sorry for Armie. Maybe that's why he adds: “I thought that funny.”

“Did you?” Armie gazes up at him, his face lighting up for a moment.

“It was crazy, man.” They grin at each other.

Armie nods, plays with his wedding band. Liz coughs to get their attention back.

“Anyway. Where's your support, Timothy? Do I have to remind you that we have compromising pictures you don't want to surface?” She grimaces and it takes Tim a moment to realize that she tries to smirk.

“Miss Chambers-” Brian starts but Tim cuts in. He might not have a career anymore when he walks out of here, but he'll still have Stéphane. Spending months with Nic has taught him that – contrary to what he might have thought last summer – friendship and love are important and come in fact first. A fact someone like Liz will never understand.

“Actually, Liz, I don't give a fuck. You know what? I have a boyfriend now. Nice guy. Good looking. French. I plan to come out this summer. At least as bi. I'm aware that a lot of gossip is flying around already. You really think a few pics of you, me and Armie could make it worse? It'll be interesting for a few hours and then the next best thing will pop up. While I'm away shooting a big budget movie in Europe.” He schools his face into an innocent smile he practiced all morning in his hotel room.

“Worse than what?” Armie asks.

“Worse than being gay in Hollywood. I mean, pics with you, Liz, could actually help me. You now, make me look a virile, red blooded stud after all...”

Is that a grin on Armie's face? It's definitely a grin on Brian's.

Liz just stares at him, mouth gaping.

“What are you saying?”

“I'm saying: put your stuff out there. I'll be the gay twink who fucked a peach forever. How do you want to be remembered? It's up to you. Besides... I have pictures myself.”

Something passes over Armie's face.

“What do you mean?” Liz voice rises.

“Ask your husband. Didn't he tell you about our last night in Austin?”

Liz turns and frowns at Armie, who sits up a little straighter.

“What does he mean?”

Armie clears his throat. “He means we met without you one last time.” He pauses, takes a deep breath, gets up, slowly backs away from her. “But honestly, Liz, it doesn't matter anymore. Since we've disposed of our pics... I mean, what's the point? I have my career. The kids. I'm happy. But Tim is going to be a star. You can't force yourself into his life. Try to be content with what we have.”

“Wait, what... you've disposed of your pics?” Brian leans over the table.

Liz looks as if she's about to choke – or to throttle someone.

“You fucking idiot!” She hisses. Armie raises his hands in apology.

“I thought that's what you wanted to tell them. That it's over.” He takes another step back as if to get out of her reach. “And I don't just mean you, me and Tim.”

“What? What are you talking about, Armie?” All color has left Liz face, her age suddenly showing.

“I mean... between us. I talked to my lawyers. The prenup will allow you to keep the bakery.”

The room goes very, very quiet.

Tim's eyes dart back and forth between the two. He has no idea what's going on but he immensely enjoys the show.

“What the hell, Armie...? Are you out of your mind?” Liz gets up as well, walking towards her husband.

“Your name is not on the deed for the new house. And if you challenge that I'll go to court over custody. Harper is old enough to tell them... Sorry, Tim, Brian... we really should discuss this in private, Elizabeth.”

Brian just nods, gathering his papers.

“How are the kids?” Tim asks suddenly, remembering how he read to Harper, changed Ford's nappies. How Liz couldn't be bothered.

One look at Armie says it all as his eyes bore into Tim's. “Good. They're good. I'll make sure they'll be fine. Thanks for asking.”

Tim blinks. It's none of his business. They might not even remember him. And yet he feels suddenly cold when he looks at Liz, her lips pressed tightly together, eyes dark with anger, a sharp crease between her plucked eyebrows.

“Okay... than... if there's nothing else?” Brian holds the door open for Tim.

“Nothing.” Armie says, nodding.

Liz seems frozen, staring at her designer shoes.

Tim gets up. Looks around. Realizes nothing keeps him here so he walks out into the sunny Californian afternoon, away from the unfolding drama. It's not his fight to fight. It's the private hell Armie and Liz made for themselves.

Outside, he smiles, takes a deep breath.

He has no idea what his future will bring. His coming out could be a disaster, ending his career. And Stéphane's.

But he has shown Tim that he's really good at baking crepes so maybe they could do that instead of acting, operating a traveling crepes booth in the south of France? Stéphane can also juggle and eat fire so they could run away to the circus. Wouldn't that be romantic? Truth be told, Tim would mop floors or process frozen fish if it allows them to be together.

Acting is nice and exciting but there are more important things he's discovered. Friends. Love. His mental health. Inner peace.

He really doesn't care if the world learns about his missteps, his mistakes. So much of his private life is out in the open already. Yet he's discovered that he can separate himself from his public persona.

Because he's not who others think he is.

What has happened over the last few years got him where he is now. It was traumatic. It hurt. But as he can't change it he has to start living with it.

It's hot when he leaves the air-conditioned hotel lobby. He puts on his sunglasses and turns left, walking into the direction of the setting sun. He still has an hour to spare before he'll be meeting Nic. 

He's been to LA so often – but never to the beach.

Suddenly, he wants to kick off his shoes, roll up his jeans and wade out into the cool surf.

As he raises his arm to hail a taxi he takes his phone out. “Hey, babe, it's over. It wasn't... as bad as I thought it would be. Strange, but... I'll tell you more when I see you next week. Anyway, I miss you.” A car stops and Tim opens the door, slides onto the backseat. “I think I'm going for a quick swim. Love you. Bye.”

**The End**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually at first had an ending in mind where Tim is unable to get away from the Hammers. But I couldn't do this to him. 
> 
> I'm sure this is not the kind of punishment many of you wanted for Liz but for her character here losing Armie and the kids is maybe the worst. Not because she loves them - but because it means that her pefect life she's built for the world to see is falling apart - and she's left with next to nothing. It's her social death. Her rich, famous husband will go on without her. And he'll make sure she never sees his kids again - so she can't exploit them anymore for her showmanship.
> 
>  
> 
> As for Armie and Tim - that simply couldn't happen in this story. There are things you should never forgive someone. I tried to make it clear that Tim doesn't hate Armie anymore in the end - because he's moved on and found something so much better. Now he can heal - and that means to stop hating. Which isn't the same as forgiving. But there's no chance for love for them here.
> 
> I tried to show in the end why this Armie is so fucked up, so weak, so violent; why it takes him so long to stand up for himself... He only starts to fight when his children are in danger of suffering the same way he did as a kid. Am I too lenient here with him? Maybe. But many abusers have been victims themselves. That doesn't excuse what Armie did in this story, but maybe it explains it.
> 
> Thank you all for reading to the end. I know it was hard sometimes. This was a tour de force for me as well. But I have to say it was quite the experience.

**Author's Note:**

> Talk to me in the comments!


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